


Jetsam and Flotsam

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: Nights in Sandbridge [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, April Fools' Day, Breathplay, Choking, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Parent Bucky Barnes, Parent Tony Stark, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Tony Is Not Helping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:13:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: A collection of scenes and snippets from the Sandbridge 'verse that didn't fit into any of the longer stories, but which we wanted to share anyway.





	1. Driftwood

**Author's Note:**

> This probably won't make much sense if you're not already familiar with the [Nights in Sandbridge](http://archiveofourown.org/series/700245) series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place shortly after the events of [High Noon in Sandbridge](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13009197).

… _you slip up, just once…_

There was nothing but mist, as far as Bucky could see in any direction. Distant, dark shapes that vanished as soon as he got close.

He couldn’t even see the ground under his feet; there was nothing but white in any direction.

“Tony!”

His voice echoed, bounced back at him from a hundred different directions at once, reverberating until Bucky fell to his knees, arms shielding his head from sound that attacked him like ghosts.

When the sound faded, there was still nothing.

No one answered.

He staggered to his feet. Picked a direction at random and walked, hands out to feel his way through the fog.

_...when Tony runs off on you..._

Ty. Golden blond and pretty, his lip curled up in disgust. Looking down on Bucky, like Bucky was nothing but trash. Like he thought he was better. Dressed sharp, the sort of man that Jan Van Dyne might approve of, a man who knew what looked good on him. Picked clothes that accentuated that gym-toned body, drew attention to his clever, handsome face.

“He left, didn’t he?” That smile, beautiful and cruel. “I told you he’d come back to me.”

Bucky shivered, wanted to deny it. But where was Tony, what-- “What did you do to him, bastard?” He wanted to rub that smug look off Ty’s face. Wanted to see that lush mouth bruised and bleeding. His arms felt weak, like he could hardly move, swimming in glue, weighed down by grief and guilt. “Where is he?”

“He’s where he belongs,” Ty said, confident and easy. He leaned close, until Bucky could feel the warm puff of his breath. “He was so _very_ grateful that I rescued him from your--”

 _...pathetic hand to mouth existence_.

“No,” Bucky protested, but it felt empty. Hollow. “Tony came back, dammit, he _came back to me_. He didn’t… he didn’t go, like every--” _like Bucky’s entire family had left him_. His Ma, who hadn’t wanted to go, but it hadn’t stopped her. His sister who’d left and hidden for so long that he didn’t even know her, before she left him again in a more permanent way.

The mist cleared a little-- they were in the graveyard, near the Barnes’ plot. There… there were only two Barnes’ left in the world. Him and…

… he stared at his hand. Billie _wasn’t there,_ she wasn’t holding onto his hand.

No, no, wait.

Ty was still there, the smug bastard. His smile hadn’t slipped. His knuckles were skinned; a rivulet of blood dripped down his fingers, disappearing into the mist.

“What did you do to them? Where are they?”

“It doesn’t matter, Barnes. They’re not yours anymore. They’re mine.” Ty looked like an angel, and had the heart of a demon. He licked the blood from his knuckle. “And it took so very little convincing.”

 _It’s never an accident when you hit someone._ Bucky wanted to destroy Ty, but he couldn’t raise his arms. It hurt like a heart-attack. He managed to get his arm up, cocked back his elbow. The blow was useless; he connected, but there was no force in his arm. He was weak. Worthless.

Big Jim would have sneered at him, his mouth twitching with disapproval. Bucky was weak. Girlie. _Worthless_.

He stumbled, fell. Was on his knees in the nothingness in front of Ty. Who was looking down at him. Mocking him.

Grief welled up, greater than anger, greater than shame, and Bucky raised his face to the uncaring sky and _screamed--_

***

“Bucky!” Hands on his shoulders, hot, squeezing hard. “Bucky, honey, wake up!”

He couldn’t see; where he’d been surrounded by blinding white fog, now there was nothingness. His chest ached and he gasped for air. His heart was pounding so hard he could barely think, couldn’t… Someone was touching him and he flinched back. “Wha--?”

“Hey, it’s me, baby, it’s me. Come on, wake up.” The hands didn’t touch him again, but there was warmth beside him, the heat of another body next to his. “Bucky?”

“ _Tony_?” His voice was shaking; his whole body was shaking. His throat was burning. He couldn’t get enough air. He raised his hands to his face, to try to scrub away his confusion. “I… but…” He wanted to reach for Tony, for his husband, but was scared to try, that his hands might pass through Tony entirely. That he would be too weak to hold on. “It’s too dark.” That came out sounding broken. Beaten.

“Okay, I can--” Cool air rushed under the blankets as Tony rolled away from Bucky. A moment later, the bedside lamp clicked on, its dim light almost as blinding as the dark. “There we go. You back with me, honey?”

Bucky opened his mouth, shook his head, then -- “You left me.” His eyes burned under the change of light, with the force behind his words. How sick and _betrayed_ he felt. And _terrified_ ; the thought of Tony and Billie, in Ty’s care? He was shaking and he didn’t know how to stop.

“I’m right here,” Tony said. “I didn’t go anywhere, baby. It was a dream. I wouldn’t leave you. I promised, remember? Even if there are aliens.”

His breathing was slowing down; he was dizzy from hyperventilating. “Dreamed it?” More of a question than he wanted it to be. “You… you took Billie, went… went back to Ty. He… he was there.” _Blood dripping from his fingers_. He managed to raise his chin, to study Tony’s face; in the half-shadow he couldn’t tell. Reached out and tipped Tony’s face toward the lamp. No bruises. His breathing slowed again.

“Jesus, Bucky,” Tony breathed. “God, I’d never, I’d _never_... No wonder you were yelling.” He held out a hand, hesitant but offering. “I’d never take her from you. I’d never go back to _him_ , not for anything. God knows I’d never expose Billie to that toxic shitstain.”

Bucky nodded. He knew that, _he knew that_. “I… I know that,” he said, and his voice didn’t even break. He took another breath, slow and careful. “Will… Tony, will you _please_ hold me?”

“Love to,” Tony said quickly, voice shivering with relief. He slid closer, smoothed out blankets that had been twisted and rumpled, then pulled Bucky into his arms. “Here, baby, I’ve got you.”

Bucky folded gratefully into Tony’s embrace; pressed his face against the safe hollow of Tony’s throat, fingers gripping harder than maybe they should.

There was a faint sound from the other side of the room, and Billie piped up, “Uncle Tony, what’s a ‘shitstain’?”

Tony huffed out something like a laugh. “Something you shouldn’t repeat at school. Come and give Uncle Bucky a hug; he had a bad dream.”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky managed to pull himself away from his husband to make room for Billie as she squirmed up onto the bed. “Did I wake you up?”

There went that look again; Billie was the most sarcastic seven-year-old Bucky had ever met, even without saying a word. She climbed into the small gap between Tony and Bucky. “You were screamin’,” she said. “Was it a monster?”

Bucky put his arms around his family, pulling both of them closer. “Yeah, honey.” It wasn’t even a lie. “It was.”

Tony grunted, but it didn’t sound like disagreement. “We’re still here,” he said into Bucky’s hair.

Billie looked up at him, her green eyes gleaming in the half-light. “Don’t worry, Uncle Bucky. I c’n sleep in here an’ keep monsters away. Mom said monsters only like it when there’s one person ‘round. So, me an’ Uncle Tony’ll keep you safe.”

 _God_ , he loved that kid. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed, rough. “Jus’ for tonight, though.”

Billie squirmed under the blankets. “It’ll be like a sleepover,” she said, snuggling up, already sounding drowsy. “Go back t’ sleep. Uncle Tony’ll keep watch for this shift.”

“I will, will I?” Tony asked, amused, but he kissed the top of Billie’s head, then leaned over her to kiss Bucky’s forehead. “Okay. Just this once.”

 


	2. Hubris, Thy Name is Donut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky didn't do anything to the donuts! Honest!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A response to the tumblr query, "Is April fools in Sandbridge any different now that winteriron has a kid? (I remember being very much into pranks as a kid)"
> 
> (This takes place early during _Mother of Tides_ , if you're wondering.)

“Billie! Breakfast!” Bucky put the bowl of cereal at the table in Billie’s traditional spot. That table had gotten a workout since they expanded their little family. Before, it was primarily a flat surface that acquired stuff. But while Billie wasn’t a toddler, she also still exhibited an alarming tendency to leave crumbs everywhere. Growing up in a restaurant, Bucky had an absolute horror of crumbs and the ants and sometimes other, larger, bugs, that went along with them. So, eating took place in the kitchen.  

“Coming!” Billie yelled from her room. A series of loud thumps announced her sprint through the house. Billie had two speeds: Stop, and GO. “Can I go over to Kendra’s today?” she demanded as she threw herself into her chair. She snatched up the spoon waiting in the bowl and shoved a spoonful of cereal into her mouth... or tried.

The entire bowl moved when she picked up the spoon. She frowned at it, and tugged again. The whole bowl moved again, sliding perilously close to the edge of the table. She grabbed on the side of the bowl and yanked hard. The spoon did not budge. “What the...”

“Sure, you can go to Kendra’s,” Bucky said, as nonchalant as he might wish. Too bad Tony wasn’t awake, he’d find it hilarious. Billie’s expression was one of sleepy puzzlement. “Say hi to Mr. Sam for me.” It was spring break and Sam had closed his office in Norfolk so that Sarah Casper had someone to stay home with the kids.

Billie hugged the bowl to her chest and pulled. The milk and cereal popped out of the bowl in a giant, frozen chunk. “Uncle Bucky!” She brandished the mess at him.

Bucky gasped, as if completely surprised. His acting skills weren’t great, but he could usually manage incredulous for a few minutes. “Wow, what on _earth_ happened to your breakfast, peanut?”

“It’s all _frozen!_ ” Billie protested. She put it back into the bowl and started trying to wiggle the spoon free.

“Maybe you developed mutant powers overnight?” Bucky suggested. The edges of his mouth tipped up, he wasn’t going to keep a straight face for long. “Touch something else, see if that gets frozen.” He took a few steps closer to his niece.

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then reached out and poked tentatively at Bucky’s arm.

_Bingo!_

Bucky shuddered all over and stopped moving entirely, not even blinking.

“C’mon, Uncle Bucky!” she complained. She pushed at him, but he’d already braced for it, and didn’t move. “Uncle Bucky?!” She jumped up at waved in front of his face. “Uncle Bucky!!!”

Tony shuffled into the kitchen. “What’s all the shouting about?” he wondered, sleepy-muzzy.

“Uncle Bucky’s _frozed!_ ” Billie yelled.

“Is he, now?” Tony said, eyeing Bucky dubiously. “He looks okay to me.”

“Uncle Tony, my cereal froze when I touched it! Look!”

Tony picked up the cereal spoon and its burden of frozen breakfast. A smirk tugged at his lips. “Huh, how about that.” He glanced at Bucky knowingly.

The whole staying unmoving thing was getting a little difficult. Blinking, it was a thing. Bucky made a pained groan, a la the Tin Man from _Wizard of Oz_.    

“Wait, I think he’s trying to tell us something,” Tony said. “What is it, Bucky? What are you trying to say?”

“Thaw meeeeeeeeee,” Bucky complained. He was really having trouble not laughing, now. Billie was staring at both of them, like they’d lost their minds, or she was really convinced that he was frozen.

“Hmm, how do you think we should thaw him out?” Tony asked.

“A hair dryer?” Billie guessed.

“That might work,” Tony agreed. “Or maybe we should just hug him. Hugs are warm, right?” He slipped his arms around Bucky’s waist. “You want to get in on this, buttercup?”

“But if I froze him...” Billie said slowly, looking between Bucky and her cereal.

Bucky went ahead and let himself thaw out, collapsing on weak knees, leaning heavily on Tony’s shoulder. Probably not the best plan in the world, given that Tony was never at his best before coffee, and they both nearly spilled onto the floor. “Oh, good! That was good. I was worried!” He managed that for about two seconds and then he cracked up. “April Fool’s!”

“Uncle _Bucky!_ ” Billie protested. She looked offended for about a minute, then perked up. “I forgot! Kendra an’ me’re gonna have so much _fun!_ ”

“Well, you can’t have a full day without breakfast,” Bucky said. “Lemme get you an actual bowl of cereal.” He poured another batch of Frosted Flakes into a clean bowl and opened the fridge for the first time that morning. The frozen cereal joke had to be set up last night, and he’d just dropped it in her place--

“Jesus Christ!” Bucky almost knocked the bowl off the counter in a sudden automatic reaction.

Everything -- _literally everything_ \-- in the refrigerator was LOOKING AT HIM.

Tony leaned against the wall and practically howled with laughter. “Got you!” he cackled. “Oh man, I’m so glad I was here to see that!”

Bucky took a deep breath. “Anthony Stark-Barnes,” he said, shaking his head. “You are _relentless_.” Every single thing in the fridge had googly eyes glued to it. The milk. Every individual egg. The salad dressing. The head of lettuce, for fuck’s sake. _Everything_. Everything in the fridge was glaring at him.

Billie leaned around Bucky’s elbow and squeaked, clapping her hands over her mouth as she laughed. “Did you do that, Uncle Tony?”

“Yep,” Tony admitted. “I had to be _very_ sneaky, too, because usually when I get up at night, Uncle Bucky wakes up.”

Bucky put a hand on his chest, feeling his heart rate slowing. “Yeah, you’re sneaky all right,” he said. “Been taking lessons from Auntie Nat, I expect. Those two are just trouble, aren’t they?” He asked Billie’s opinion. The saying in the kitchen was that if the two of them ever decided to take over the planet, there’d be a Stark & Romanov logo on everything inside the week.

“Yup,” Billie agreed.

Tony managed to stop laughing long enough to breathe, then leaned in to kiss Bucky. “Okay, now that’s done, I’m going to go take a shower. Back in a bit.” He kissed Bucky again, and lingered for a third, until Billie whined about them being gross.

Bucky waited until Tony was in the master bedroom, then-- “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “You want a doughnut for breakfast instead-- _SShhhh, quietly_.”

“Yeah!” Billie enthused. “What idea? Are we gonna prank Uncle Tony?”

“Go get dressed, hurry up, and yes, yes we are.” Bucky smirked, broad and _with intent_.

***

Tony was still tired -- it had taken longer than he’d expected to fix all those googly eyes to the food in the fridge, so he was down a couple of hours of sleep. But it had been totally worth it for Bucky’s startled reaction. He snickered again, thinking about it.

Revenge was going to be epic, no doubt about it. Tony was going to have to be on his guard for the rest of the day. Bucky’s trick with the frozen cereal had shown some pretty impressive creativity.

Tony checked the shampoo and shower gel bottles for dye or other joke substances before he used them. He checked his razor before shaving. He looked his towel over before drying off. He opened the underwear drawer carefully, but nothing sprung out at him. He dug a t-shirt out from the very bottom of the stack, and shook out his jeans before pulling them on.

He checked all over one last time to make sure before nothing else had happened while he’d been in the shower. Everything seemed normal.

He went back out into the front of the house. “Okay, shower’s free now if you want it.”

Billie was sitting on the couch, practically _vibrating_ with excitement. Yeah, they’d definitely done something while he was in the shower.

“Your coffee’s ready,” Bucky told him, then pressed a sweet kiss to Tony’s lips, his mouth was lightly flavored with… donut glaze? “We decided to go out and get breakfast.” He winked at Billie and headed into the bedroom to take his own shower. Tony imagined that Bucky would spend about the same amount of time examining the bathroom for pranks as Tony did.

“We got donuts for you, Uncle Tony!” Billie chirped. She pointed toward the kitchen.

On the kitchen table was an entire box, and taped to the top of the box was a hastily hand-written sign. “HAPPY APRIL FOOLS DAY”

“What’s going to jump out of this box when I open it?” Tony wondered aloud.

“Nothing, silly!” Billie said. “Donuts don’t jump!”

“Uh-huh,” Tony said skeptically. He stood well back and cautiously lifted the lid.

Donuts. Well, something that _looked_ like donuts. Like his favorite raspberry-filled jelly donuts, in fact. That was just begging for trouble.

“Might as well tell me what the prank is, buttercup,” Tony said. “I’m not falling for it. What’s wrong with the donuts?”

“Nothing!” Billie said.

“Yeah, sure. You want one?”

“Nuh-uh, those’re all for you! I already had mine when we were at the shop!”

“Of course you did,” Tony said. He squinted at the donuts. They _looked_ good. They _smelled_ good. There was definitely something wrong with them. He wasn’t eating them until he knew what it was.

He examined them, then went back into the bedroom. “Okay, what’d you do?” he called into the bathroom.

“Uh, took a shower?” Bucky answered, his voice going up at the end. He opened the door, letting out a swirl of steam and there was his husband, just barely toweled off, hair going its crazy post-shower thing, warm and naked and smiling. “Why? What’s up?”

“The donuts,” Tony said, refusing to let himself be distracted by naked husband. Much. “What did you do to them?”

“Hmm?” Bucky gave him an innocent look, leaving the door open to go back to toweling off and peering at himself in the mirror, trying to decide if he wanted to shave or not, probably. “Nothing. Why, did Billie eat one? I told her those were for you.”

“Yes, that’s what she said. But I’m not fooled. There’s a prank in there somewhere.”

“There really isn’t,” Bucky said. “Have a donut, Tony. You deserve one.” Apparently, shaving was not on the day’s work. That was okay, Tony kinda liked the scruffy look. His husband could pull it off, where Tony tended to look like he’d staggered out of bed without coffee whenever he skipped grooming. It was a superpower, Tony decided. Ridiculously good looks with minimal effort. Bucky had it. Tony… did not. All of his good looks were high maintenance.

And he was getting distracted again. Which was probably just what Bucky wanted, damn it. He was going to have to be on his guard.

“I think I’ll just have coffee for now,” he said. “Don’t want to have too much sugar in my system while I’m doing that rewiring on the light in the men’s room.”

He kissed Bucky -- evil plot or not, Tony liked kissing his husband -- and headed straight downstairs to the restaurant to start on the backlog of minor maintenance tasks.

He got downstairs and was almost run over by Michael, Sharon’s son. Everyone in the beach area was on spring break, and Sharon had already let them know she’d be bringing him in -- the day care had the week off, too, which seemed vastly unfair, since many employers didn’t let people off for the week, so other childcare arrangements had to be made. “Morning Mr. Tony,” Michael said. He was sporting half a blue face, as if someone had put egg coloring on his washcloth or something. “‘Z Billie awake?”

“Yep, she’s up there watching TV,” Tony said. “But I think she’s planning to go over to Kendra’s later.”

“Ok!” Michael got about halfway up the back stairs, then, “Oh, how were your doughnuts?” He was laughing already and not even trying to hide it.

Damn, this was no spur-of-the-moment revenge prank. Bucky had _planned_ this, if the staff knew about it. “They were _great_ ,” he told Michael. He almost offered one to the kid, but it looked like Michael had already fallen victim to at least one prank.

“ _Cool_!” Michael was up the rest of the way and banging on the door for Billie to come out.

When Tony got inside, Sharon was busy with brunch prep. “I declare a truce on pranks,” she said as soon as Tony came up to her. “If you have anything planned, _do not even_. Michael woke me up early to tell me his dad called.”

“Oh, ouch,” Tony empathized. Michael didn’t even know the guy, who’d done a runner practically the instant he’d found out Sharon was pregnant. “We’ve already had a few upstairs. Hey, did Bucky happen to tell you what he did to the donuts?”

Sharon raised an eyebrow. “The raspberry jelly ones?”

“Yeah. He definitely did _something_ to them, and I refuse to fall for it.”

“I don’t know,” Sharon said. “He didn’t say. Just that he was getting donuts for you, and if they made their way downstairs, we weren’t supposed to eat them. Which seems mean. I’ve had a terrible morning and I could use a donut.” She eyed him. “You really _should not_ eat them.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Tony sighed and went to get his toolkit.

By the time he’d fixed the flickering light in the men’s room, Bucky had come down as well. And he’d brought the damned donuts with him. The box was sitting on the staff table, smug. Tony eyed it suspiciously. Opened and closed the lid a few times, but nothing happened.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with them?” Tony asked Bucky when he came through on his way to the office.

“You are a very suspicious person, you know that?” Bucky answered a question with a question. “Nothing’s wrong with the donuts.”

“You eat one, then,” Tony challenged.

“Oh, thank you,” Bucky said. He spun the box around to face the other direction, opened the lid, and took the middle donut from the second row in. “I know, raspberry jelly is your favorite.” He took a huge bite, getting powdered sugar on his chin and a dribble of jam on the side of his mouth.

Tony sighed. Clearly, Bucky had planned for that tactic. This was going to be harder than he thought.

“Have a donut,” Bucky said. He picked one up and did an airplane maneuver with it, a tactic that didn’t even work with Billie and cantaloupe and _certainly_ wasn’t going to convince Tony to eat something that might explode on him.

He stepped back. “I’m not that easily tricked, mister,” he said. “I’ll figure it out, yet!”

“I _know_ ,” Bucky said, easily. “Certified genius. That’s why I didn’t do anything to the donuts.” He ate that one, too. “Ok, ordering now, or we’ll all be sorry later.”

Damn. This was going to be _much_ harder than he’d thought.

Tony was just finishing up with a repair to the drains -- living as close to the water as they did, the water table in Sandbridge, even once they were off the beach proper tended to mean a lot of drainage issues -- when he heard a terrifying sound.

Nat, who’d come in just before the brunch started, zeroed in on the staff table with a gleeful shriek of “Doughnuts!”

“No!” Tony bolted for the staff area, nearly tripping over a chair and banging his shin on the side of a shelving unit. “Fuck, ow, Nat, no!” He managed to get to the table just ahead of her and slammed the lid shut. “They’re trick donuts!”

Nat gave him the poutiest of the pout faces (and he should know, having dealt with Bucky _and_ Billie for quite some time now.) and batted her eyelashes at him. “I can’t have a doughnut, Antonishka?”

“If they were normal donuts, I’d be happy to share, Nat, you know that. But it’s April Fool’s Day, and Bucky has _done something_ to these.”

“Blasphemy!” Nat exclaimed. She had feelings about dessert products. Ice cream was her favorite, but cakes, cookies, and donuts were all on the list. “That’s a mean joke. They’re _doughnuts_!” She _hmphed_ and stomped off in the direction of Bucky’s office, presumably to yell at him for tampering with sweets that she wanted to steal.

Tony sighed and slumped against the table, rubbing his bruised shin. Maybe he should just throw the whole box away. No. If he did that, Bucky _won_.

A few minutes later, she came back out and said, brightly, “Bucky says there’s nothing wrong with the doughnuts, but I can’t have one until _after_ you eat one.” She batted her eyelashes again, obviously waiting for him to get on with it.

Tony’s mouth dropped open. “He got you _in on it?_ ” That was _so_ unfair. Nat was supposed to be on _Tony’s_ side on this. “No,” Tony said decisively. “I’m not falling for it. Not until I figure out _what’s wrong with them_.”

***

It had been a busy evening for them, considering it was still technically the off-season. Tony managed to -- mostly -- forget about the donuts in the hustle and bustle of the usual work, despite the way Nat sulked and glared at him every time she saw him.

He gave up trying to get anyone to tell him what the trick was. Whatever it was, it had to be epic, given the way Billie’s eyes sparkled when she came back from Kendra’s and immediately asked him if he’d had a donut yet.

Bucky did not neglect to bring the box back upstairs with them at the end of the night, either.

Tony groaned. “Haven’t you figured out that I’m not going to fall for it?”

Bucky laughed again. “There’s nothing wrong with the donuts, Tony,” he said. “You’re just being paranoid.”

“Of course I am. It’s April Fool’s Day. I’ve got to give you credit for your straight-faced lying today, though.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the clock above the kitchen door. “Only for another three minutes,” Bucky said. “You sure you don’t want a donut?”

“Maybe in three minutes,” Tony said. “If you’ll admit I won and tell me what you did to them.”

“Hubris, thy name is donut,” Bucky said. He put his arms around Tony’s waist and drew him in for a kiss. He nuzzled at Tony’s pout until Tony relented and kissed him back. The flutter of Bucky’s eyelashes against his cheek clued Tony in that Bucky was watching the clock, even as they kissed.

It was still a pretty good kiss. Kissing Bucky was always good. And Tony had won, after all. When Bucky pulled away, Tony glanced at the clock: Ten seconds past midnight. “Okay, _now_ will you tell me?”

Bucky grinned, not his normal, helplessly happy smile, but something deeply wicked and sinister. “Tony. I did absolutely nothing to those donuts. Not a thing. Not to any single one of them, or as a group. Or to the box. You let a _perfectly good box of donuts_ sit around all day without eating one.”

“But. But you...” Tony glanced over at the box on the table, and then looked back at Bucky’s evil grin. “Seriously?”

“I did text most everyone to tell them that I’d bought you donuts,” Bucky admitted. “But I told everyone I hadn’t done anything to them. Well, except Nat, because she would have eaten them all.”

“Oh my god,” Tony breathed. “I did not win.”

“ _Gotcha_ ,” Bucky whispered. And he pulled Tony back in for another kiss, magnanimous in his victory.

 


	3. Every Breath You Take (I'll Be Watching You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets a taste of what breathplay is like... and wants to see it from the other side. 
> 
> Bucky... worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains choking in a sexual situation, including vivid descriptions of not being able to breathe. 
> 
> Contains discussions of past emotionally abusive relationship, and Bucky's concern with cyclical abuse.
> 
> For Skye_wyr who asked for more of the breathplay :D

Having to stay quiet during sex _sucked_. Not enough to forgo sex entirely, of course, but enough to make it worth an obligatory grumble. Especially since Bucky seemed to delight in trying to make Tony whine and beg and moan _despite_ the eight-year-old only a couple of rooms away.

He grabbed for a pillow and pulled it close to his face so he could muffle himself. They’d been pretty lucky lately, and hadn’t had any late-night interruptions. And Billie, once asleep, slept soundly. But it was best not to tempt the fates.

They’d gotten pretty good at quickies, too, but Bucky didn’t seem in any particular hurry. He shifted, a little, stroking in with a sinuous rhythm. Got himself fully seated, and then just stayed there, the utter bastard. He took a great handful of Tony’s ass, spreading his cheeks further. One hand strayed to the spot where they were joined together, rubbing lube-slicked fingers around Tony’s stretched rim. “So pretty,” Bucky said. He leaned forward, shifting again, and ghosted whisper-soft kisses along Tony’s spine.

Those fingers slid further down, between Tony’s legs, and he let Tony push into his palm, once, twice, before straightening up again.

Tony whined, and pulled the pillow over his face. “C’mon,” he complained. Bucky could probably hear him despite the muffling. “Bucky, please, _please_ , baby, give it to me.” He wrapped his arm over the pillow, clamping it to his face, because he could tell this was going to be one of those nights where Bucky was going to make him _beg_ for it. Tony loved it, but it made him _crazy_ when he had to be quiet. Which Bucky absolutely knew, the jerk.

Bucky made a soft sound, like a sigh with ambition, then Tony thought maybe he’d begged enough, because Bucky’s hips sped up, and he absolutely jackhammered into Tony, three, four… six strokes. Six. Why was he even counting? Bucky was probably counting, the asshole. Tony’s spine practically melted, heat pooling in his thighs and belly, rushing in both directions. And then Bucky stopped again. Well, not _stopped_ , but he was going slow, a few inches at a time, then pulling almost free.

Tony’s insides tingled, his abused prostate throbbing as sensation was taken away. There was a juddering motion as Bucky huffed out a breath at Tony’s mournful whine, buried into the pillow’s depths. Bucky’s hand stroked up Tony’s back, fingers sliding on either side of his spine. When he reached the back of Tony’s neck, he pushed down, forcing Tony’s back down, pushing his ass even higher. Holding him down. Claiming him.

Bucky’s thighs were quaking and he picked up the pace again.

Tony curved his back as much as he could, reveling in the stretch and ache. His breath came out in short pants, and it was hot under the pillow, almost suffocating. He felt a little dizzy, but Bucky was still slamming into him just right, setting off all Tony’s pleasure centers at once. He gulped a breath, and another, and the whole world spun, just a little.

It wasn’t unpleasant. It was, actually, nice. Bucky covering him, warm and hard, Bucky’s hand against Tony’s neck, Bucky’s breath skating across Tony’s skin. It seemed they were the only things that existed in the world.

Tony drew another breath, deeper, and his lungs ached for fresh air. Without thinking, Tony pushed the pillow away and gasped in the cooler air. That dizzy sensation took a while to fade, though. When it did, Tony thought, distractedly, that he rather missed it.

“Go on, baby,” Bucky told him. Somewhere in there, Bucky had put his hand on Tony’s cock again, was stroking him off in time to Bucky’s thrusts, and Tony was rocking into it, although he couldn’t remember when that had happened, but _ohhh, god_ , it was so nice… “I gotcha, honey. Lookit you, all relaxed an’ just taking it.” Bucky was marvelling at it, and Tony was pretty sure there was a wet spot of drool forming under his cheek.

Then Bucky twisted his hand and Tony surprised himself by coming all at once, without any of the slow buildup he was used to. Maybe it had already built, while he had been floating and dizzy. “Oh! Oh, god,” he moaned, his body shuddering with the force of it. “Bucky, sweetheart, oh, _god_.”

Bucky stroked him through it, and he didn’t feel nearly as jittery with overstimulation as he usually did, just a little sparky and tender. He bit his lip to muffle his groans, and pushed back into Bucky’s thrusts.

“Oh, that’s… that’s _good_ , baby,” Bucky said, then made a sharp, short cry as he jerked forward, his entire body stiffening against Tony’s. He juddered a little through his aftershocks, each pulse surging and singing through Tony’s nerves. “Oh, god.”

“You said it, honey,” Tony panted. “Holy shit.” Sex with Bucky was always great, but that had been something else again.

Bucky petted Tony, clingy like he often was, after. Stroked light fingers over Tony’s hips and flanks, nuzzled at his back, sticky and rapidly cooling with sweat. “Love you.” He pulled back, and off with a sigh, flopping over onto his back. He gave Tony a dopey, love struck smile, as Tony struggled to regain some of his scattered wits. “You are so fuckin’ beautiful, Tony.”

Tony laughed breathlessly and wriggled closer until he could drape an arm and a leg over his husband. “You say that every time.” He nestled his head into the hollow of Bucky’s shoulder. “That was really phenomenal, though.”

“It’s true. Every time.” He brushed over Tony’s cheekbone with one knuckle. “Glad you liked it.” He made an effort and propped himself up on one elbow. “Anything in specific I oughtta do again?”

“Mm, I like it when you get all caveman and hold me down,” Tony said. “Though this time I think the pillow had almost as much to do with it. I got a little dizzy there, for a bit, and everything seemed to... I dunno. Sparkle? I don’t know how to describe it. But it was intense as hell.”

Bucky was staring at him, a weird intensity on his face. “Like a halo? Everything was a little glowie, and soft?”

Tony considered that. It wasn’t a description he’d have thought of on his own, but-- “Yeah, kind of.”

“How’re you feelin’ now? Headache? Chest hurt?” Why was Bucky looking _worried_ , that didn’t make sense.

“I’m fine,” Tony said. “What’s got you all flustered, honey? I’m okay.” He squeezed Bucky a little in demonstration.

Bucky swallowed. “Think I mighta smothered you, a bit.” Bucky was doing that thing, where he was gnawing on his lip. “That’s… ah… how I feel, when you put your hand on my throat.”

“Oh.” That made sense, though he hadn’t really been in the right headspace for compare-and-contrast in the moment. “I liked it,” he said. “Maybe we should try turning that around sometime.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, like he was repeating Tony’s use of the word. “Oh, well. We’ll… we’ll see, okay?” He peered into Tony’s eyes again, then, apparently finding nothing too worrisome there, snuggled up against Tony, reached out with one hand, and snapped off the light. “Sleep, honey.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, wrapping more tightly around Bucky, though that had been an abrupt end to the conversation. Well, maybe Bucky wasn’t interested. That was okay, too. “Love you.”

***

There were medications made for every illness on the planet, Bucky thought, except the one that might be helpful. Something to make his goddamn brain shut up for five minutes. He stared at his computer monitor, trying to make the accounting software come back into focus. He knew it wasn’t the monitor; the damn thing was practically brand new. It was that he couldn’t get his eyes to stay focused.

Bucky kept drifting back to the previous evening, the way Tony had gone lax and sweet and pliant under him. And how that had made him _feel_. Powerful, somehow. And at the same time, he’d been a little disturbed by how easily he could have hurt Tony and never even realized it. Which made him think about Alex, a subject upon which he did not frequently allow himself to dwell.

He was a little worried that liking Tony in that relaxed and complacent mood made him a little too similar to Alex.

Except he knew damn well if he brought it up to Tony, especially like that, Tony would just turn it on its head like feelings were some sort of damn math equation and could be forced to make sense. _Do you think I’m like Pierce, when I do it for you? Or do you trust me? Do you think I don’t trust you as much?_

“God damnit, Tony, shut up,” Bucky muttered to the voice in his head. Which… was unfortunate timing, as Tony stuck his head in the door at the exact wrong moment, and both his eyebrows went _way_ up.

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” he complained. “I feel compelled to point out that if you’re watching Billie’s videos of us again, there is a mute button.” He came the rest of the way into the office. “Everything okay?”

“Not… _you_ , you,” Bucky stammered, flushing. “The you in my head.”

“The me in your head was talking too much?” Tony looked slightly confused, which was adorable on him. “Does telling him to shut up work any better than telling me to shut up?”

“The you in my head was being stupidly logical,” Bucky told him. “It’s annoying when you have to be right, even when it’s me, being you, telling me to stop being stupid.” He huffed out a breath and waved his hands around. The best thing about having been married for several years is that he was pretty sure Tony wasn’t going to run screaming from the room and find someone else to date. Bucky knew a couple of his dirty little secrets, too. Like the fact that he couldn’t brush his teeth unless the water was running. Otherwise, his toothbrush made him gag. It was weird, but there it was.

“Aw, am I your Jiminy Cricket?” Tony said, teasing a little. “That’s sweet.” He sat on the edge of the desk and leaned over to kiss Bucky’s forehead. “What are you being stupid about, that you need me to tell you to stop?”

“Can you, uh… shut the door, if we’re gonna talk about this?” Bucky shifted in his chair, a little uncomfortable. “I… I’m worrying about what you said last night. I’m worrying that… I don’t know. I… and I know you don’t think of it that way, but I always reckoned that what I liked, it was _wrong_. An’ you were okay with it, an’ that we could jus’, you know. Sometimes. But now, you want to? And I feel like maybe that’s. I don’t know. Is perversion contagious?” He knew, knew, that Tony was going to give him that _look_ , so he didn’t look, kept his eyes on his desk.

“Yeah, you should listen to Jiminy Tony,” Tony said. “You already know the answer to that. But if you don’t want to, honey, that’s okay, it was just a throwaway idea. You know I don’t want to do anything we’re not both completely on board with.”

Bucky dug up one of his own looks, directed it at Tony. “You already know the answer to _that_. It… wouldn’t be botherin’ me if I didn’t _want to_.”

Tony just turned the look back on him. “So, what, it was okay for you to think of it as something shameful when it was you wanting it, but now that it’s me, it’s weird to think of it that way? I’m not exactly an angel, you know.”

“No, no, no, baby, no, it’s… it’s me, it’s a me thing,” Bucky protested. “I never even thought about myself, on th’ other end of the equation, so, yeah, it’s takin’ me a bit to settle. I… okay, i know, stop thinking at me. I just… and I don’t. I don’t put you in his place, in Alex’s place. I would _never_. But it just… make me think of him, when you asked. Made me think I might be like him,” Bucky finished, lamely. It was so frustrating, sometimes, trying to untangle the way he felt about everything. It would just be easier, sometimes, if he could get a chip, stick it in his head, download his emotions and thoughts and crazy, stupid worries and then plug them into Tony. But he couldn’t do that, so… words.

They sucked.

“Which would be what you were already sayin’. Up here.”

“Well, good job, up-there me.” Tony folded his arms and considered the wall for a moment. “I don’t have to tell you all the ways you’re not like him, do I? I mean, you’re nothing like you’ve told me he was. So tell me this: do you want it because you want to feel bigger than me? More powerful? Or because you want to make it feel good for us both? I think it’s probably closer to that one.”

Bucky reached out and brushed his knuckles down Tony’s cheek. “I… I want to share it with you,” he said. “How good it feels, like a physical thing, but also… because I _trust_ you. I give _everything_ to you, in that moment, and… you cherish that.” His chest ached, trying to express himself. Words didn’t seem like enough. “I want… I want you to feel that, too. Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely,” Tony said. He put his hand over Bucky’s, turning his face into the touch. “When we do that, you’re so damn _gorgeous_ , it takes my breath away. And you just...” He huffed, and shrugged, smiling ruefully. “I want you to see that, too. I want you to hold me in your hands and know that it’s a gift. _He_ never appreciated it, but I know you would. You will.”

“You’re a gift, baby,” Bucky told him. “I love you.”

***

Sarah Casper fanned out the season passes to the Chrysler Hall. “Oh, nice,” she said. “I take back every horrible thing I’ve ever said about you, Tony.” She gave him a wink; Sam’s sister had the same sly sense of humor that made her brother an endless source of amusement, but she accompanied it with exaggerated expressions.

“All of them?” Tony teased. “Even that one, the one time with the milk?”

“Okay, maybe _half_ of them. Seriously, though, you didn’t have t’ do this,” she said. “We’re happy to take her, she and Kendra get on like a house afire.”

“And yet, we have done it anyway, and you’re going to enjoy the shows. It’s not a babysitting bribe, it’s _enrichment opportunity_.”

“Oh, let me enjoy my bribe, child,” she told him, swatting him with the tickets. The girls were already inside, crowded around Kendra’s phone, playing some game that involved a lot of giggling. “You and your boy have a nice, _peaceful_ evening.” She held up one hand. “I don’t even want to hear about it.”

“Peaceful is not what we’re going for, but somewhere at least two steps above nice,” Tony said, dodging as she swatted him again. “Thanks again!”

“You get over feelin’ shy about it when the second one comes in an’ says he’s _jus’ watchin’, Mama_ … Or dad, I guess, in your case,” Sarah said, and Tony rather hoped she was kidding, but knowing Sarah, she wasn’t. She was an earthy sort.

“Yeah, I don’t know if that’s going to do anything but make Bucky _more_ shy,” Tony said, laughing. “We’ll see you tomorrow!” He called a farewell to Billie, who waved without looking up from the game, then tucked his arm through Bucky’s as they headed back toward Dockside. “Well, that’s one nice quiet evening for us,” he observed. “Got any ideas what we should do with it?”

“I’d suggest we could play chess, but you’d prolly take me up on that,” Bucky joked. He pulled Tony in closer and tucked his hand in Tony’s back pocket.

“Hmmm, strip chess,” Tony mused. “No, too many pieces, not enough clothes. We could play for forfeits, I suppose.”

“You could offer me a penalty,” Bucky said. “Certified genius. No, no, I’m not gonna sit around while you try t’ figure out rules to sex chess. I thought, havin’ the house empty, we might…” Bucky was already blushing, and he jerked his chin around to see if anyone was within earshot -- not likely, it was not quite the end of tourist season, but it was quiet, and had been for a while. But Tony waited, because Bucky sometimes got stubborn if he thought Tony was trying to push him. “... we might try that thing. Where I show you how precious you are to me.”

“The... thing? Where-- Oh! Oh. Yes. Yeah, that sounds...” Tony slanted a look up at Bucky, lips curving. “That sounds perfect.”

The walk back from the Caspers’ to Dockside wasn’t far; they could practically see the dock itself from Sarah Casper’s front lawn. But somehow, it suddenly seemed further. Bucky wasn’t dragging his feet, but he was strolling. Walking with a little more purpose, somehow. As if he was drawing out the anticipation. Or giving Tony time to reconsider. Maybe. Even without being able to see him, though, Tony could feel the way his husband’s body moved, his stride growing a little more intense, the way he worked his thighs. Bucky didn’t sway his hips, the way Tony did. He strutted, drawing attention to his powerful legs, narrow waist, and intent focus. It was… breathtakingly gorgeous.

“Hnnng, we need to get home before walking gets even more difficult,” Tony said. “Do you even know how sexy you are right now?”

Bucky laughed. “Me? No,” he said, deflecting. “ _You_ are sexy.” He eyed Tony speculatively. “I could chase you, if you wanted to run.” That was just cheating; aside from Wanda’s brother, there wasn’t anyone at Dockside faster than Bucky was. He could practically lap Tony on the few occasions that Steve had prodded them into going for a run with him.

“I’m not running with half a boner,” Tony said. “Let’s just say you’ve already caught me and are taking me back to your lair to have your wicked way with me.”

Bucky threw him an absolutely smoldering look. “Yeah, you know what monsters do, in their evil lairs? They eat you right up.” With a sudden swoop, Bucky turned, got his shoulder in Tony’s midsection and hefted him up like a sack of grain.

“Whoa-- shit!” Tony cursed and laughed and clutched at Bucky’s shirt for balance. “Help, monster attack!”

“Stop squirmin’,” Bucky complained, swatting Tony’s ass with one broad hand, just enough to feel it, not enough to hurt.

Tony yelped anyway, because it was funny to. “Oh no, Mr. Monster, don’t eat me,” he said, barely able to stop giggling to force the words out. “I’ll do _anything_.”

Bucky swallowed so hard that Tony could feel it, the way air went into his chest. “Will you, now?” Bucky’s voice dropped into a low growl, mock-threatening and at the same time, serious as a heart attack. “ _Anything_?”

“Anything,” Tony promised, a touch breathlessly, because that was how the game went, and also because he probably would do just about anything Bucky asked him to.

Bucky got a foot on the bottom stair to their home, took a deep breath, and up they went, which was kinda vaguely terrifying and intensely hot all at the same time. Watching the muscle in Bucky’s back and hips work was fucking _hypnotic_. “Nope,” Bucky declared, pushing the door open with his free hip. “I think I’m still gonna eat you up.” His monstrous intent was immediately spoiled when he put his hand on Tony’s waist to steady him. “Watch your head, baby, don’t want t’ clip you.”

Tony ducked his head obediently, still laughing, though he was getting a little lightheaded from being half upside-down. “Some terrifying monster _you_ are.”

“Takes all th’ fun out of eatin’ you alive if you’re concussed,” Bucky pointed out. He took another deep breath, then headed into the bedroom, Tony still slung over his shoulder like an amused backpack. And then he was flipped over onto the bed, bouncing a few times before ending up sprawled across the comforter.

“Oh!” He tipped his head to grin up at Bucky. “Hello there, sexy beast.”

“Hey yourself,” Bucky said. He made a wicked little snarl in the back of his throat, then pounced on Tony, grabbing a handful of hair to tug Tony’s head back. He lipped eagerly over Tony’s throat, rumbling and growling the whole time.

Tony curled one leg around Bucky’s hip, drawing him in closer, and arched up against Bucky’s body. “Mmm, honey, you can take a bite of me any time.”

Bucky’s snarling settled into something a little more like eager moaning and he worked his mouth down Tony’s throat and tugged his tee aside, stretching the collar out to get his mouth on the muscle in Tony’s shoulder, nipping at it lightly, then worrying at it, sucking the blood up to the surface, a tingling pain, soothed it then with his tongue and cool air, breathing over the wet skin. Bucky slid one hand under Tony’s shirt, pushing it up and out of the way. “You’re like one of those lunch packs, comes with your own wrapper,” he complained.

“But once you get me unwrapped, it’s all your favorites,” Tony quipped back, propping up on one elbow to pull the shirt completely off. He tugged at Bucky’s shirt while he was at it. “Equal opportunity unwrapping, here,” he said. “C’mon, I want to see some skin.”

Bucky rolled off him, kicking off his shoes and raising his hips up to get at his belt and yanked his jeans down. Totally naked Bucky didn’t take particularly long, but then he rolled back over, mouthing at the tender skin along Tony’s belly, laying over Tony’s thighs and keeping him trapped in his pants. One hand traced light circles over Tony’s hip, while he looped a thumb in Tony’s belt and pinned him down to the bed.

Tony arched into the touch, or tried, and whined when Bucky held him in place. “Baby, you’ve gotta finish unwrapping me,” he pleaded. “Oh, god, what you do to me...” He twined his fingers in Bucky’s hair, trying to pull Bucky in for a kiss.

Bucky nuzzled at the trail of hair just under Tony’s navel, then stropped himself against Tony as he came up to deliver the desired kiss, rubbing his chest against Tony’s groin as he went, an aching, sweet press. “Anything I want,” he said. “You said so.” His eyes glittered in the light, eyelashes fluttering seductively.

Tony groaned against Bucky’s mouth. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. I’m all yours.”

“Mine,” Bucky told him. He ran a hand up Tony’s chest, thumbed over the nipple on his way up, teasing it to a stiff peak, then his fingers went to Tony’s throat. Tony had always known Bucky had long, graceful fingers, but he’d never been quite so aware of just how big his hands were until that exact moment. Bucky’s palm rested over Tony’s windpipe, not squeezing, just holding him there. “Damn, look at that,” Bucky said, and his voice was _reverent_.

Tony tipped his head back a little further, feeling the slide of Bucky’s work-rough hands against the softer skin of his throat. “You like that?” He rolled his body up against Bucky’s, seeking more contact.

“Oh, my _god_ ,” Bucky said. “You… damn, you look _incredible_.” He leaned down, a little more weight against Tony’s neck, and then kissed Tony. Nuzzled at his lip, then teasing at the crease until Tony opened for him. It was sweet and gentle and warm, a thorough mapping of the inside of Tony’s mouth. Tony was just melting into it when Bucky made a soft noise and sucked all the air out of Tony’s chest, drawing it in.

“Ohhh,” Tony sighed. “Oh, honey.” He drew in a breath, fighting a little against the pressure on his throat. It wasn’t difficult enough to make him panic, just a reminder of Bucky’s hand there. Comforting, almost, knowing Bucky had him.

Bucky made a thoughtful humming noise in his throat. “Here, let me get your pants off, that doesn’t look comfortable.” He took both hands off Tony in order to fuss with belt and button and zipper. “Lift up, here.” Nudging, Bucky got Tony’s jeans down around his thighs and then kissed the entire way down Tony’s leg as he pushed them off, an inch at a time. He pressed a few airy kisses around Tony’s ankle after tossing his shoes and socks onto the floor. The thin skin there was sensitive, and Tony squirmed a little at the touch, which sent bolts of sensation up his leg.

Bucky paused, staring up Tony’s naked body with ravening eyes. “God, you’re glorious. Never get tired of this view.”

Tony knew what Bucky meant, in that he was fond of the corresponding view. One day, maybe, he’d be used to Bucky’s extravagant phrasing, too. “Come up here and kiss me.” He propped himself up on his elbows, trying for a casual, nonchalant pose that wouldn’t give away how desperately keyed-up he was, how excitement and desire and -- yeah, a little nervousness -- buzzed in his veins.

Bucky hunkered down and kissed Tony’s calf, then slowly started nosing his way upward, stopping to nuzzle and nip and lick at various spots. The back of Tony’s knee got a thorough exploration, as well as the inside of one thigh. After nibbling on Tony’s hipbone, and Tony had just decided that Bucky was going to skip his dick in the interests of being a complete asshole tease, Tony had an immediate about face and wished that maybe Bucky had skipped it. His cock was treated to a long, wet lick that got him more wound up than he had been, writhing and squirming. As soon as Tony reacted, though, Bucky was done and moved on, which was _so unfair_.

“So mean,” Tony complained. He didn’t mean it, except for how he did. Bucky loved to tease him and torment him and it was wonderful and maddening. “You’re going to make me scream, aren’t you?”

Bucky hummed, which really wasn’t much of an answer, and light fingers came up to tease along the wet line of Tony’s cock. He thumbed over the head. “Thought you wanted a kiss,” Bucky said, and then kissed him. Deep and wet and hard, and the whole while, he was stroking and caressing Tony’s dick, reaching down to play with his balls, reaching further to run one questing finger over Tony’s asshole.

Tony moaned into the kiss, letting his jaw relax, letting Bucky in as deep as he wanted to go. Tony curled one leg up over Bucky’s hip, lifting himself up into Bucky’s touch. “Oh, honey, oh, I...” Bucky hushed him with more kisses, each longer and harder than the last, until Tony was panting for air.

Once Tony was heaving for breath, he barely got any. Bucky kept sucking the air right out of his lungs before it could do him any good. It didn’t hurt -- his lungs always felt full -- but at the same time, there was a sense of drowning and pressure and his brain kept sending weird, sparking signals, like he wanted to breathe harder, faster. And Bucky _wasn’t letting him_.

Tony tried to relax into it, to let it happen, but those signals were hard to ignore. He wound his fingers in Bucky’s hair, curled his other hand over Bucky’s shoulder, and held on tight. Bucky was still touching him, making his body spark and flare that way, too, until it felt like the room was spinning and Tony couldn’t find the center, couldn’t work out whether he was coming or going, whether he was breathing in or out, whether he wanted to thrust up or rock back. “Oh god,” he managed, and it sounded thin and reedy.

“There you are, honey,” Bucky soothed, his hand still moving, letting Tony rock up into that touch, then lower. “Spread your legs for me, yeah?” Bucky stole Tony’s air again, then let him breathe a moment, then… there was a snick, and the lube was resting on Tony’s side, a little chilly next to how warm he was.

One finger breached Tony’s entrance and Bucky was waiting for that gasp, apparently, because he sucked Tony’s breath away _again_. The world spun like a merry-go-round, and rocked back and forth. He clung to Bucky, worried that he might fall, somehow. Bucky’s breath was warm on his face, and Bucky kept his mouth over Tony’s. It seemed, somehow, like Bucky was taking all the good air, all the oxygen away, and Tony’s brain stumbled and stuttered, trying to figure it out.

 _You’re breathing in what he’s exhaling._ Oh. Oh, like hyperventilating.

Two fingers, and it didn’t even burn.

“I got you, honey,” Bucky said. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Can you look at me?”

Tony hadn’t even realized his eyes had closed. He looked up at Bucky, and the light from the window shone behind him, making him look blurry and bright. He’d never seen anything as gorgeous as his husband, those stormcloud eyes with that faint line on his brow between them. “Love you,” Tony told him, because that was suddenly important, the most important thing. “So much.”

“Love you, too,” Bucky said. “How you feelin? Want more, or are you good?” He stopped moving, keeping his fingers inside Tony to keep him stretched, but letting Tony recoup and think and breathe. The dizziness roared up a bit, then started a slow subsidence, like a ride coming to an end.

“So good,” Tony sighed. “God, it feels so good, want... want to keep going.” He didn’t want the ride to end, wanted Bucky to have all of him. Wanted... just wanted. He thought about stretching up to claim another one of those kisses, but it seemed like a lot of work. “So good.”

“Okay, baby,” Bucky said. He scooted over a little until he was situated between Tony’s thighs. He pushed one leg back and lined himself up. “God, you are so… look how relaxed you are, Tony, my _Christ_.”

There was a bit of burn and stretch and oh, electric sparkles sizzling right up Tony’s spine as Bucky pushed in, slow and steady. “Okay, listen to me, baby,” Bucky told him, his voice going high and strained. “Gonna put my hand on your throat and ride you through this. Want you… want you to put your hand on my wrist, okay? Squeeze and relax, so I know you’re okay. You want me to stop, either stay squeezed, or let go, okay? Tony, say yes or no. You understand?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Squeeze once for okay. Got it.”

“Great, baby,” Bucky said. “You’re doin’ so good. This is the hard part here, for a minute, then it’ll be all better, promise.” Bucky thrust in the rest of the way with a stifled groan. His hand went around Tony’s throat. “Kiss me.” When Tony complied with that order, Bucky sucked all his breath out again, then blew it back in, recycled air, almost depleted of anything actually useful, and Tony’s lungs screamed for air and it ached, deep in his chest, like a bad cough. He went to gasp, and Bucky’s hand closed on his throat.

He couldn’t breathe.

And Bucky was fucking him, hard and steady and nailing him in that sweet spot, every single time. And he couldn’t breathe.

For a moment, it was okay, he could remember that it was okay, and he remembered to squeeze Bucky’s wrist and then loosen his grip. He couldn’t breathe and it was okay, he could do this, like holding his breath underwater, like when Nat dunked him before he had a chance to take a breath, like when he fell off his surfboard into a wave that was rougher than he expected.

He couldn’t breathe. His brain was beginning to get panicky about it, and the light in the room flared and darkened in pulses. He was dizzy, and his skin was tingling, and Bucky fucking into him felt so _good_ but he couldn’t breathe and his lungs _hurt_ and his vision was blurred and going sort of odd at the edges, narrowing everything to a single point. To Bucky’s watchful face, above him.

“I got you, baby, it’s okay, honey,” Bucky told him, voice warm and soothing in his ear. “I got you. I won’t let anything happen. Shhhh. It’s all right. I’ll stop, any time you want. God, you feel good, an’ look at you, so loose and soft, I jus’... how do I ever deserve you. No, it’s okay, Tony, don’t try to talk. Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Tony couldn’t have talked if he wanted to, but he didn’t really want to. Everything had faded except the sound of Bucky’s voice. It felt like there was a weight on his chest, pressing his lungs down, but it was okay, that was fine. He felt warm and protected and _loved_ and his skin was so _sensitive_ suddenly, like every whisper of breeze was a caress. Every time Bucky thrust into him, it felt like he was taking Bucky into his whole body. He stared at Bucky, wondering how this beautiful, perfect man had come into his life.

“There you are,” Bucky said, and the pressure eased. Tony was breathing again, but thin, pulling gasps that didn’t seem to help, but Bucky’s hand was on him, stroking his cock, and each caress was like velvet fire, so intense, so… so… something. Tony fluttered after the word and couldn’t catch it. The bed rocked like they were on the ocean and the light flickered and shifted, and Bucky was so beautiful, and everything was… something.

Bucky’s face followed Tony into the dark, as he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

The bed rocked and the room spun around them and everything was beautiful, even through the dark. He pulled another slow, thin breath into his lungs, and they ached as they expanded, even a tiny bit.

The pleasure, when it took him, was a surprise, his climax less an explosion and more of a tidal surge that carried him away.

Bucky made a stuttered, moaning sound. “Oh, that’s… god, you feel good, baby.” And he kept thrusting, fucking the orgasm out of Tony, making it last, and oh dear christ there was so much, he didn’t know how he was ever going to stop. Bucky rocked into him, covered his face with little baby kisses. “So good for me, honey, oh… oh…” Bucky stiffened against him, body wracked with tiny little shivers. For just an instant, Bucky was laying on him, forcing the air out of his chest, and that stung, black spots of pain in the middle of the most intense pleasure, keeping him grounded, keeping him inside his own body, when it was so tempting to just let go.

Then the weight was gone. “Breathe in, baby,” Bucky said. “Big breath. You can do it.”

Tony gave it his best shot, because Bucky had asked him to. He almost expected to hear crinkling, crackling noises from his lungs as they expanded. It certainly felt that way. “Oh, ow,” he rasped.

“Okay, good,” Bucky said, and he sounded desperately relieved. “How you feelin’?”

Tony considered it, almost drifted off before remembering that Bucky was waiting on him to answer. “Kind of floaty?” He thought about opening his eyes, but that was going to take a lot of effort if he was expected to keep breathing, too. “Little sleepy.”

“Okay… Hang tight a few minutes, I’mma clean you up,” Bucky told him, which was thoughtful, because Tony was soaked with sweat and come and… just, ick. But it was too much effort to move and do anything about it, and Tony was still considering it, fingers twitching from time to time, when there was something cool and damp smoothing its way down his chest. “Look at you, all wrung out and debauched.” Bucky’s voice was fondly amused.

“Y’got me good,” Tony agreed. “That was. That was wild.” Bucky’s lips brushed over Tony’s briefly, and Tony hummed happily. “Y’r th’ best.”

The bed shifted a little as Bucky climbed back in. Tony found himself being manhandled around until he was laying on his side, Bucky spooned up against his back. “There.” he said, “that should make it easier to breathe, when you’re not fightin’ gravity. Better?” He nuzzled at the back of Tony’s neck. “You’re so sweet, baby. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Tony said. It _was_ a little easier to breathe like this. He managed another lung-stretching breath, and groped around for Bucky’s hand, pulling it over him like a blanket. “Thank you.”

“Everything, anything, for you, baby,” Bucky said. “Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Which seemed like a silly thing to say, but Tony was comforted by it, warmed by it. Bucky was there. And he wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

 


	4. Everything I Never Told You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky are like brothers. Steve wants to be supportive of Bucky -- but that's hard when Bucky doesn't _tell him stuff_.
> 
> A fill for this request from Rose Rose:  
>  _[Steve's POV when] things happen in Tony and Bucky's life- like when he finds Tony on his way out of Sandbridge, when Tony's dad dies, when Becca dies, when they're worried about Billie running away, when Darcy first shows up... Basically I want in his head... (in some ways my fav pairing is Steve & Tony & Bucky BroTP with whatever relationship is, especially Steve/Tony and Bucky/Tony... I want Steve the awesome friend he is in this AU). I'm just hoping that strikes a plotbunny in your head. But, you two get the best plotbunnies anyway even if mine doesn't =D_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place not long after [Chapter 4 of _Mother of Tides_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14051604/chapters/32714274).

Steve pulled his work apron on over his head and walked into the fridge to check the levels of Billie-mac. He needed to mix up a fresh batch of crabcake batter, and if they were low on their specialty mac-and-cheese, he was in for a busy prep. He grabbed a package of crabmeat and a carton of eggs, and eyed the shelf with the mac. They probably had enough for tonight, but it was going to run out before the weekend hit, for sure.

He muttered to himself and carried his ingredients back out to the kitchen to start prepping the crabcakes. It had been Ma Barnes’ recipe, and Steve had argued with Bucky a few times about whether it could be improved. Bucky won, always, but that didn’t stop Steve from bringing it up every couple of years.

He started cracking eggs into the big mixing bowl, humming under his breath as he listened to Nat out on the floor, dragging the tables into place and sweeping up the sand that somehow always made its way in from the beach.

Wanda pushed in through the door, using her hip to knock the kitchen door aside. Steve had reason to know that all the women who did that had matching bruises. Nat’s was pretty much permanently placed there, just over the line where a childhood scar stood out sharply over her bikini line. She’d complained about it, that she really should not wear bikinis anymore, but Steve had talked her out of _that_ notion.

“Uh,” Wanda exclaimed. She put a huge bouquet of flowers on the staff table and scraped her hair out of her mouth. She started fluffing the flowers, a collection from her little garden, mostly lilies in brilliant orange, along with a cluster of something yellow -- carnations, maybe, and black-eyed susans. It was like Wanda had taken the sun and placed it in a vase. A little eye-searing, but cheerful, nonetheless. “What do you think? It doesn’t look too traditionally feminine, do you suppose?” She stared at the flowers, chewing her lip and that little stress line furrowing between her eyebrows.

Steve glanced at the flowers and reached for his spice rack. “Pretty,” he said. “Not too fluffy. I like the colors. What’s the occasion? Did I forget someone’s birthday?” That was unusual. Not that Steve was good at remembering dates, but Nat usually reminded him of the ones he forgot.

“I hate that flowers get assigned a _gender_ ,” she said, scowling. “I don’t want to imply anything. But I don’t have a lot of yellow flowers, really. My garden’s mostly blues and reds, with some white, this time of year. What little I have. Or purple. Lots of purple. I made Sam drive me all over Suffolk, looking for empty lots. Daylilies are pretty, but if you plant them, you better like ‘em damn well, they grow over everything. Like bamboo. Or kudzu. Yuck.” She twitched the bouquet again, bringing some more yellow flowers to the front. “They’re for Tony, of course.”

Of course? Why of course? Steve pondered it, but couldn’t remember Tony mentioning any big school projects or exams he’d have done well on and need congratulating for. He hadn’t gotten hurt again, had he? Nat would’ve mentioned that, for sure. “Okay, I’ll bite,” he said, slicing open the package of crab meat. “Why does Tony get flowers?”

Wanda huffed at him. “I try very hard, Steven Grant Rogers, not to accuse you of being too traditionally _masculine_ and therefore with the emotional range of a teaspoon. But _honestly_! It’s special. They’ve got every reason to be proud and excited and nervous. I know I’m excited for them.”    

“I... got no idea what you’re talking about, Wanda.” Steve stopped working to turn and look at her straight-on. “Seriously, what’s happening?”

“Tony’s going to have a baby, my God, don’t you even care?” Did she actually stamp her foot at him? He thought women only did that in bad movies. And sometimes Nat, when she was exceptionally exasperated. Wait. What?

“He’s-- I’m pretty sure Tony doesn’t have the equipment for that,” Steve said. “No matter what kind of weird science article you read.”

“It’s not weird science,” Wanda said. “Surrogacy and adoption have been around for _decades_ , what are you, living in the forties?” She peered at him. “Oh, god. You actually don’t know, do you? They didn’t… they didn’t tell you? I assumed, oh, god, I assumed that you knew already, Bucky’s like your brother, I thought… oh, oh, oh, Steve, I’m _so sorry_. Oh, god. Tony’s going to kill me.”

Steve blinked through Wanda’s babbling. “Surrogacy and-- They’re going to _adopt_? What... When did _this_ happen?” He’d have thought Bucky would have told him, too. How did Wanda know?

“No, the surrogate’s _pregnant_ ,” Wanda said, her hand still clamped over her own mouth, so her words were muffled. “Miss Lewis. She… she was in for dinner last Wednesday, do you remember? She, uh, got like two bowls of the she-crab soup, and you made her a virgin mint-julep? And a slice of pecan pie.” Steve never did understand how Wanda could do that, she kept customer orders in her head without a pad, and that he could probably have done with a little practice, but she retained them for years, sometimes. Steve could barely remember what he’d made after he tore the ticket down and sent it out to the floor, unless the customer got a burr up their butt about it.

“I guess, maybe?” Steve admitted. He remembered the virgin mint julep, anyway; there weren’t a lot of requests for that. His brain was still stuck on the whole concept of Bucky and Tony having another child. By surrogate, apparently. How the _hell_ had that happened? And why hadn’t he _known_ about it? “How’d you find out about all this?”

Wanda’s eyes were like saucers. “Sam told me. He, uh, knew her name and then when I saw the credit slip… I mean, how many people around here named Darcy are there going to be? She’s like, northern and stuff, said she was staying in one of the rental condos until December at least.”

“ _Sam_ knew?” Steve said. It might have come out a little bit like a squawk. “How th’hell did _Sam_ find out? Bucky ain’t said-- He _knows_ , right? This isn’t some weird Tony thing, is it? ‘Cause that’s not the kind of thing that makes a good surprise.”

“Uh, I don’t know?” Wanda was squeaking, now, too. “I didn’t think to ask, I was just excited. I mean… don’t you just, well, I love babies, I get it that not everyone does, but they’re cute and soft and they smell nice and they… I mean, Sam just mentioned it, over dinner, and we got to… sort of talking about whether or not that was. You know, something Sam and I might do, someday. So, you know, conversation derailed?”

Yeah, that was the kind of thing that sent the conversational train right off the rails. Steve sighed and turned back to his crab mix. “Yeah, I guess. I’ll ask Bucky when he comes in, I reckon. They’re, uh. Pretty flowers, Wanda.”

“I’ll just… um, get to work then.” Wanda grabbed her apron and fled the kitchen, leaving the flowers behind. There weren’t customers yet, and she usually did the flatware wrapping in the kitchen, but the awkwardness was getting really wretched, and everyone knew Wanda had anxiety, even if she’d gotten a lot better over the years of having a stable job and home life.

Steve finished up the crabcake mix, and then, just to keep himself good and busy, started up a fresh batch of the mac-and-cheese. Because if he let himself fall too deeply into the easy routine, he’d have too much mental free time to consider why Bucky wouldn’t have _told_ him if they were planning on expanding the family again, and then he was going to start feeling hurt.

***

The text Bucky had sent wasn’t big on details; just

_Rnng l8. Iin bfr 5, I hope._

Which meant Steve was elbows deep in the pre-dinner rush by the time Bucky pushed in, looking like he’d rolled out of bed and into the first clothes he could find, because that too-tight shirt was definitely Tony’s. Bucky _never_ wore pastels, and Tony sometimes did. His hair was in a messy bun and his lip looked like he’d chewed it to the point of bleeding.

“Sorry,” he said on his way toward the office. “Gimme a few an’ I’ll come get you out of the weeds.”

Steve was too busy to do more than grunt in response, really. But Bucky was still his brother, or as near as, so the first thing Steve said when Bucky came into the kitchen a few minutes later to take over the burger side of the grill was, “Everything okay?”

“Reckon I’ve had worse days,” Bucky said, checking the list of orders. “Jus’ today’s Tony’s long day at school, and…” Bucky drew in a long, shivering breath. “Where we at, tonight? Sorry t’ bail on you, Vic couldn’t come in, an’ I really needed t’ be up at the Beach.”

“We handled it,” Steve said. He glanced at Bucky sidelong. “Anything I should know about?”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “Fuck.” He scowled at himself, put the spatula down and went to wash his hands again. When he turned back around, the expression on his face was pretty close to the being-strong mask he wore a lot when Big Jim used to bawl him out for being _unmanly_. “I dunno, we... it might not matter.”

And that jolted Steve out of his own pity party. He _hated_ it when Bucky made that face. “Buck?”

“You know, this is exactly why we were playin’ it close to the vest, but… I can’t tell Tony right now, he’s at class, an’ he don’t need-- I’ll tell him when he gets home.” Bucky chewed his lip again, then. “We uh… well, Maria, you know how she is, right?”

Bucky went back to the grill and flipped the burgers, not looking at Steve.

Lord, did Steve know how Bucky’s mother-in-law was. She was nice enough, but very determined to get her own way on things. And she succeeded more often than not. “Sure.”

“She… sent Tony a present, ‘bout six weeks ago,” Bucky said, with a bark of a laugh that sounded not quite forced. “A girl.”

Steve nearly dropped his spatula. “She _what_?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Tell me ‘bout it. A pretty girl. Smart an’ fashionable, an’ a total nerd. She and Tony get along like a house afire. _Darcy_.” That came out sounding a little bitter.

_How many people around here named Darcy are there going to be?_ “That be this Darcy Lewis that Wanda was telling me about?” Steve tried to make it come out casual.

“Yeah, uh… what’d she say?” Bucky wondered. “Gossip around here, I swear.”

“She said y’all were going to have a baby,” Steve said, plain, because he’d never been good at subtle. “With this Darcy girl.” He cleared his throat, glanced over at Bucky again. “That right?”

“Jesus fuck,” Bucky snapped. “Yes. Darcy showed up just after New Year’s with a fucking pedigree on where she went to school and medical history and said to Tony, ‘let’s have a baby.’ Maria sent her. Like a late Christmas present or something.”

“Huh,” Steve said, turning it over. “Rich people are crazy. But she’s sticking around, so... you’re actually doin’ it? Or leastways, Tony is?”

“No, I mean, yeah, we are. Tony and me. I mean, it’s not… Tony’s a good dad, Steve. He really is,” Bucky said. “And you know, I… it was you an’ me, growin’ up. Us against the world, to the end of the line. I… want that, for Billie. And. I mean, it’s weird, though, right?”

“You’re a good dad, too,” Steve said. He loved to watch Bucky with Billie, the way the love just shone out of Bucky’s eyes. “Wouldn’t be a bad thing, for Billie to have a little brother or sister. But still... a _surrogate_? That’s kinda weird, you gotta admit, Buck.”

“Super weird,” Bucky said. He shifted a glance at Steve. “But, yeah, they, uh, mixed it up in a lab, you know. It’ll be Tony’s kid, tho. Genetically. Which is fair, I guess, since Billie’s my direct family. Assuming, you know, the doctor’s right.” Bucky’s eyes shimmered again. “This is so weird, I swear, I cannot get a handle on what I’m feelin’ _at all_.”

“Right about what?” Steve wanted to ask about those feelings, but Bucky didn’t talk about his emotions easily -- another of Big Jim’s legacies, probably. Steve would have to come at it sideways, at least a bit.

“She called this morning,” Bucky said. “She… was having cramps an’ bleeding, a bit. Needed me to run her to the doc’s. Damnit, we just found out she caught pregnant like last week, and she might have lost it already?” Bucky turned his chin and wiped his face on the shoulder of his tee. “Damnit. Doc says it’s normal, in the first couple months, but that it might also be a sign of miscarryin’, if it don’t stop. How’m I supposed to tell Tony that?”

“Oh.” Steve worked in silence for a moment, thinking, then let out a sigh. “That’s scary, Buck. But I think Tony would want to know sooner rather than later, so you can face the possibilities together.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Yeah, I will. When he gets home, I… not somethin’ I want to tell him over the phone. You know --” he started piling the burgers on the buns, slapping cheese and condiments on “-- I… yeah, we didn’t say anything. Well, Thor knows, so I reckon Loki knows, too. Thick as thieves, Thor and his brother. He was here, when Darcy came by, to tell us. But. I didn’t… we decided not to. Because something like this might happen, and I didn’t want to make a fuss. If… well, if she didn’t catch, or something. You understand that, right?”

“Not gonna lie,” Steve said, watching the grill closely so he didn’t have to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Didn’t think I’d come by that kind of news from _Wanda_. Sorta wish you’d told me, at least once Thor found out.”

“I didn’t _tell_ Thor,” Bucky scoffed, and his expression cleared up a bit. “I don’t tell Thor things, you know that. He was just… here. And either he ran his mouth, or Billie did, because me and Tony, no. Zipped it. We were… gonna tell people after she passed the three month marker.”

“Yeah, but once word was _out_... Ah, never mind,” Steve sighed. “I know now.”

Bucky sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Ain’t mean to… look, I just. It’s complicated, okay? I didn’t want to talk about it. I’m still… wobbly about it. Not the baby, you know. Or, even that it’s Tony’s baby and doesn’t have shit to do with me, which is stupid, because it’s not like it could even possibly happen any other way. But I didn’t... I don’t know. Guess maybe I’m a little jealous. An’ you always see right through me, when I’m frontin’. Didn’t want you to pull one of those famous Steve Rogers moves and say somethin’ while Tony was there. This ain’t… this ain’t his problem, and I just need to get over myself. You know?” Bucky was looking at him like there was any possible way that Steve _could know_ what it was like.

Steve huffed. “Okay, maybe it’s Tony’s baby genetically, but that kid is gonna be both of yours, just like Billie is. You can’t tell me you’re not going to be completely over the moon when the baby arrives, or that you’re going to love ‘em any less. I know you too well for that.”

“No, no, of course I am, I know that,” Bucky said. “Always wanted a big family. I just… it’s stupid and shallow an’ petty and I ain’t proud of myself for it, but… it hurts a little, that I can’t give Tony everything he needs, an’ I dunno, I thought Maria was okay with us, with Tony an’ me. An’ she probably didn’t mean it that I wasn’t, I dunno, good enough. But it kinda feels like that. You know?”

“Mm.” Steve plated an order and moved it to the heat lamps. “I think Maria’s pretty cool about the whole gay thing, at least considering how old she is. And she was hot for grandkids even back when the wedding was being planned, I remember that. I don’t think it has anything to do with _you_ , and everything to do with _her_ , and what _she_ wants.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda exactly it,” Bucky said. “None of it’s got nothin’ to do with me. An’ it’s not Tony’s problem, so don’t you an’ Nat go tryin’ to make it that way. He doesn’t need this. This is all… on me to get over. An’ I’ll get over it. It’s just… a little hard. An’ I can pass it off as nerves, so.” Bucky tilted his head. “You still sore at me?”

“Ah, hell, Buck, you know I can’t stay mad at you for long,” Steve sighed, leaning sideways to knock their shoulders together. “Anyway, if you’re haulin’ Darcy to the doctor when Tony’s in class, seems to me it’s got plenty to do with you.”

“She’s practically a kid herself,” Bucky said, like he was ashamed of being compassionate toward Tony’s surrogate. “I don’t know what Maria’s payin’ her for this, and I don’t want to know, but she turned down a hell of a graduate program to do it. An’ she’s… well, she’s scared. I couldn’t just make her take an Uber, that… that wouldn’t be right.”

“Probably not,” Steve agreed. “You like her all right?”

“I like her all right,” Bucky admitted. “She’s a super nerd. Cute, funny. Smart as a whip. Yeah, she’s all right.”

“Little like Tony, huh?” Steve said. “You should bring her around, then. Stop makin’ her sit out there like a regular paying customer.”

“I said I liked her,” Bucky protested. “That means protecting her from you hooligans.”

“Too late,” Steve singsonged. “Wanda remembers her. We’ll introduce ourselves next time she’s in, with or without you.”

“A’ight, now,” Bucky said. “Your threat is noted.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering about the chain of gossip, Billie told her best friend Kendra. Kendra told her mom, Sarah. Sarah told her brother, Sam. And then Sam told Wanda. You just can't keep a secret in a small town.


	5. Little Trouble in the Big Apple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Auressea](http://auressea.tumblr.com/) on tumblr prompted us: Sandbridge prompt idea: school's out for summer- and Tony's mother has invited the young family up to NYC for a week's family vacay.
> 
> This isn't summertime, but it's some timestamps from the family's trip to New York during the first part of [My Three Dads](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14683479); we hope that suffices!

Grandmama’s home was enormous: five floors, with three staircases, including a spiral that wrapped around the very shiny glass elevator that rose through the center of the house. Billie was bouncing a rubber ball down that round staircase, watching it from the very top. She’d tried once to race the ball to the bottom with the elevator, but that had resulted in Livvy falling down the stairs trying to get to her sister, and some Words with Uncle Bucky.

So, for now, she was bouncing the ball, and then she and Livvy would take the elevator together to go fetch the ball.

Except that time, it didn’t go smoothly down the stairs all the way to the bottom, but instead, careened wildly off the wall and bounced… onto the third floor? Billie knew about half the layout of the house, and Mr. Happy had given her a list one time of all the rooms she was supposed to stay out of.

She had “forgotten” to bring the list with her.

“Ba!” Livvy complained, pointing down the stairs, and then opening and closing her hand several times. “Ba! Biii!”

“I see it,” Billie assured her sister. “Come on, let’s go and get it.” She took Livvy’s hand and led her into the elevator. “Can you push the _three_ button, Livvy?”

“Ree!” Livvy announced, but just smacked at the wall with her free hand. Billie sighed; Livvy could sometimes count to three or four, but she wasn’t good at recognizing the numbers yet. Billie leaned over and took Livvy’s hand and touched it against the buttons lightly. “One, two, _three_.”

“Yite!” Livvy said when the button lit up, just like she had every other time they’d gotten in the elevator.

“Yeah, it’s a light,” Billie said, though her enthusiasm was waning. Livvy could happily do the same thing over and over for _hours_.

The third floor hall was wide, with sofas and chairs and little tables on both sides. Billie could ride her skateboard down the hall without risking anything -- of course, Mr. Happy had about had a heart attack when Billie commented on that. Paintings of people she didn’t know looked down at them. Where the heck had the ball gone off to?

“Daaa!” Livvy said, tugging on Billie’s hand and pointing up. Okay, so maybe Billie did know some of the people in the paintings, because that looked an _awful_ lot like Dad. He was standing with one foot propped up on a park bench, a brown and white dog flopped over on the ground at his heel. One hand rested on his knee, and he was looking slightly sideways at the painter, a familiar smirk on his mouth. Without the beard, but a tiny little mustache under his nose.

Just down from that painting, the door was open, which meant it was considered a public room (unlike, say, Dad and Uncle Bucky’s bedroom, or several of the guest bedrooms, where the doors were always closed). Billie couldn’t remember what that room was; the third floor had a number of rooms and the only one Billie specifically remembered was the library. And Grandpapa’s study, which Billie had only been in, once.

Livvy pulled her hand free from Billie’s and tottered into the room on determined little legs. Just as she rounded the doorway and went out of Billie’s sight, she let out an excited little shriek. Billie stretched her legs to catch up; if Livvy broke anything, it would probably be her fault for not keeping an eye on the toddler. “Livvy, wait!”

The door opened into a narrow little hallway with a ramp going down, instead of another room. There was thick, red cloth on the walls that felt prickly under her hand, and a white marble set of steps at the end of the ramp that turned into a huge, well lit room. There was more of that red cloth on the walls, in blocks around the room. Between them were crisp, white walls. A small living room sort of thing was on the far side of the room, all white seats and red pillows. Livvy was sliding on her butt, very slowly, down the marble ramp. “Ba!”

The ball was there, under one of the little sofas, enough that Billie had to crawl on her hands and knees and streeeetch out to get it. It rolled away from her fingertips and nearly got away. Just has she grasped it, there was a thud. A bang. (Oh dear.) And then a crash of… musical notes?

Livvy was standing next to a huge piano, black and sleek and shiny, and was smacking her hand against a series of keys. “Bi! Bi! Z’it? Z’it, Bii?”

“Piano,” Billie said. She was drawn toward the instrument like an invisible string was pulling her. It was just so... _shiny_. She stopped when her knees collided with the little bench for sitting on and stared at the polished keys and frame. “It’s called a piano, Liv.” She reached out, then did a quick look around as if Grandmama or her parents might suddenly spring out of hiding and tell her not to. They didn’t, though, so she touched a key. It made a high-pitched little _dink!_ sound. She tried the next key, which sounded just slightly lower. “Cool.”

Livvy mashed three or four keys together indiscriminately. That produced a weird, discordant sound. Billie kept going down the keys one by one. The black keys were attractive, too, in their little groups of two and three. She wondered why there were gaps where no black keys were.

“Bi? Pee no?” Livvy mashed some more keys.

An open book lay just over the keys on a tray, with a lot of little black marks on it. Some writing, but none of it made any sense. _Sonate Op 28. Allegro. Cresc._

Livvy put one fist in her mouth and chewed it, while she considered the piano, then banged that slobbery fist down on the keys again. Whunk! Spoing! It wasn’t music by any definition, just a tangle of sounds. “Bupps?” Livvy crawled under the piano and there was some thunking noises from down there.

Billie leaned over to look at her sister. “Livvy, whatcha doin’ down there? Don’t get hurt!” Dad would get mad if Livvy got hurt. He’d _say_ he wasn’t mad, but he’d get all tense and upset-looking, which was just as good as mad. “C’mon, Livvy, come out’a there.”

“Bupps!” There were a series of three metal feet and each time Livvy pushed one, the piano made a soft, almost burping sort of sound. “Bupps, do?”

Someone coughed from the doorway. “ _Ladies_? Are we lost?” Mr. Happy was a big man, tall as Uncle Bucky and broad, with a round belly. His arms were currently crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall, looking stern, disapproving.

“We was just gettin’ the ball,” Billie said, holding it up so he could see. “An’ the door was open!”

“You know I’m failing to see how banging on Mrs. Stark’s _ninety-thousand dollar_ piano is finding anything but trouble,” Mr. Happy said, scowling. “Maybe you’d like to explain it to me.”

“Oh, they’re fine, Happy,” said Grandmama, coming up behind him. “They’re not _banging_ on it, they’re _exploring_. It’s how children _learn_.” She swept past Mr. Happy and into the room. Dad followed her. He raised his eyebrows at Billie.

“No, Mrs. Stark, that was definitely _banging_ I heard,” Mr. Happy protested.

“Nonsense,” Grandmama said. “But Antonio and I are here now; we’ll keep an eye on the children so you can get back to your duties. Thank you, Happy.”

Dad leaned over to fish Livvy out from under the piano. “Sure,” he agreed. “Everything seems to be in one piece,” he reported. “Both children and instrument.”

“Da!” Livvy announced. “Pee no! Bi p’ay pee no!”

“Billie was playing the piano? That’s awesome,” Dad said. “And you’ve got a new word!” He propped Livvy on his hip and looked back at Billie again. “Chasing the ball, huh? You sure you weren’t just exploring?”

Billie held the ball out in mute explanation and nodded.

“Ba! Bii ba! Pee no!” Livvy corroborated. Billie almost mentioned that, since it was a nice big word and Dad was sometimes impressed with big words. Mr. Happy hadn’t left, either, standing there like a giant wall of disapproval.

“It _bounced_ ,” Billie finally added.

“Yes, balls do that,” Dad said drily.

“Oh, stop it, Antonio,” Grandmama scolded. “Everything’s fine. Why don’t you play something for us, as long as we’re in here?”

“Mom,” Dad protested, and then did that weird sigh that meant he wanted to argue but wasn’t going to. “Fine, just a little. I haven’t touched a keyboard in years.” He handed Livvy to Grandmama.

Grandmama sat on one of the little white couches with Livvy on her lap and patted the space next to her. “Come and sit with us, Isabelle. Your father plays beautifully, you know. Or he used to.”

Billie wasn’t quite sure why she was supposed to sit on the couch; she could see what Dad was doing a lot better from right next to him, but Grandmama was particular about stuff that was proper, and if she did what Grandmama said, she would probably get to stay longer. And maybe ask some questions that adults would answer. Adults were weird that way, they always wanted to know _why you wanted to know,_ and _what did you do already_ , and _that’s a grown up thing, honey_.

Dad looked at the pages on the piano and made a face, and then he leaned over and opened the little bench. Which made Billie sit up straighter -- she hadn’t known the little bench opened! What was in there?

More music pages, as it turned out. Dad found one he seemed to like better and put it on top of the other pages. Then he sat on the bench and played. Well, sort of played; he was just running notes one after the other, just like Billie had been doing, but faster. And with both hands. Which was kind of cool, but not really that exciting.

And then he stopped doing that and _music_ happened.

Billie had seen pianos being played before -- there was an old, much less-pretty piano at her school for music class, and the teacher played it sometimes. But she hadn’t known her _Dad_ could do that. And this was prettier music than her music teacher at school played. That was all kid stuff, things for them to sing along to. This was... this was _fancy_ music. Grownup music. Dad’s hands moved very fast, barely touching the keys before moving on to the next one. Billie wasn’t sure her hands could even _go_ that fast.

It was over almost before she realized what was happening -- Dad stopped playing and turned back around to look at them. “Yep, ridiculously rusty,” he said.

“Nonsense, Antonio,” Grandmama said, and she was helping Livvy to clap. “A little practice and you’d do quite well for a morning’s entertainment.” She nodded pointedly at Bille. “There are some photographs, in the album there, of your dad, about your age, at recital, if you would care to look.”

“Da! P’ay pee no!” Livvy announced, and then started squirming to get down. “Yiv bi bi! Down? Pa!” She was reaching-- oh, there was Uncle Bucky, coming down the little ramp.

Livvy ran full-tilt into Uncle Bucky, or would have if he hadn’t swung her up just as she reached him. “Hi, Briar Rose,” he greeted her.

“Hey, babe,” Dad said, turning on the little bench with one of those smiles that was just for Uncle Bucky.

“You are a _liar_ ,” Bucky said, looking over Livvy’s mop of hair. “I distinctly remember bein’ told that you weren’t hardly any good at playin’ at all. Thought Mom mighta been at the keyboard, an’ here I find you showin’ off?”

Dad rolled his eyes. “I’m _not_ any good. That’s one of my, like, three pieces that I learned well enough to play properly for recitals and stuff. Everything else is me just sort of dragging along a few notes at a time. It’s terrible.”

“So, who do I gotta thank for this?” Uncle Bucky asked. “He wouldn’t play for _me_ , last time it came up.”

Grandmama gave Uncle Bucky her ladies-aren’t-smug-child-what-are-you-speaking-of look. “The girls found their way to the music room, and I suggested that Antonio play for us.”

Uncle Bucky nodded, then crossed the room to sit next to Grandmama. He kissed her cheek pointedly. “Well, play, then, Antonio,” he said, crossing his legs and settling into the couch like he meant to be there for a while.

Dad stared at Uncle Bucky for a moment, looking almost confused, then sighed and stood up to get more paper out of the bench. “I’m not ever going to hear the end of this, am I?” he asked, settling the pages on the little stand.

***

Mrs. Danvers put her hands on her hips. She wasn’t much taller than Billie and had a hairstyle that made her look like an ice-cream cone. She didn’t lean into Dad’s space, or shake her finger at him, or even raise her voice, but much like the Principal at Billie’s school, she had that sort of you-are-in-trouble-now-mister attitude. “Have you lost your wits, Anthony? Maria, you cannot be serious.” She turned to Grandmama. She wasn’t scowling, and Billie couldn’t figure out how she made her face… do that.

It was remarkably effective.

“Mrs D.,” Dad said carefully, like he was talking to an angry customer, “we don’t have a lot of _choice_. Mom has to go to this event, you know she does. Bucky and I have to go with her. We can’t just leave the girls here on their own, and we don’t have time to find a babysitter.”

“It will be _fine_ , Gillean,” Grandmama said easily. “Nothing is going to happen to them at the SI annual gala. Besides, look how _beautiful_ they are in those dresses!”

“You cannot just gather in a little cluster of Starks against the world,” Mrs. Danvers said, barely glancing at Billie in her pretty dress. She mostly preferred her jeans and tees, but, very privately, Billie might be willing to admit that she loved dress up. It made her feel all grown up and _important_. “You must mingle. And dance. Sooner or later, Obadiah will corner one or the other of you, you know. There are things he can say, in only a few moments, that will last a lifetime if certain ears should hear them. You know he is not gentle.”

Billie twisted her foot against the carpet, liking the slick way her dress shoes felt against the floor. “Who’s Odabi… Obah? Thingie?” She’d heard bits and pieces, but no one ever answered those questions with anything that made sense. Billie wasn’t sure what a CEO was, either, except that both Dad and Uncle Bucky had talked about it like it was something _bad_.

“He’s a shark in a badly tailored suit,” Dad said, so Billie probably wasn’t getting an answer that made sense this time, either. He turned back to Mrs. Danvers. “You’re probably right, but I don’t have any solutions to the problem, either, except to have Bucky watch the girls and let me do all the politicking. Do you have a better idea?”

“You need to be there,” Mrs. Danvers said. “And your husband will keep the rest of the vultures off you both.” She smiled up at Uncle Bucky. “You loom so delightfully, young man. And I would certainly not wish to deny Anthony’s naysayers the opportunity to admire you. From afar, you understand.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, I agree with that,” Uncle Bucky said. He had an armful of Livvy in her new dress, a lacy fluffy thing that came well past her feet, except when it was hooked up. Made for her to be carried, the entire time, the shop lady had said. But it could be hooked up, which made her look like one of those toilet-paper dolls.

“Well, then,” Mrs. Danvers said, “there is one person in this room who is not required at the Stane gala.”

“Really, Gillean,” Grandmama said.

“Are you offering to babysit?” Dad asked, his eyebrows going up. “These two can be quite the handful.”

“I beg your pardon,” Mrs. Danvers said. “I think you quite forget who my daughter is. The young ladies can stay at the Bunker. I still have Caro’s old toy-room, on the off-chance that her young man will catch up to her in rank, and might then propose, and start providing me with a few grandchildren of my own.” That was accompanied by a glare in Dad’s direction. “She had quite the lovely dollhouse at one point.”

“I’m pretty sure she used it as a barracks,” Dad said under his breath, but he looked over at Uncle Bucky, and they did that thing where they wiggled their eyebrows at each other like they were talking inside their heads. “All right,” Dad said after a minute. “It’s a good idea. We weren’t really looking forward to dragging them through the gala, to be honest.”

Billie chewed on the edge of her thumbnail, trying to decide if she wanted to protest, or not. Dad had been talking, the whole time, about how much of a bother the gala was going to be, how many sharks and gossips were going to be there. She did have a pretty dress, and she _wanted_ to be able to listen to people say how nice she looked, and to look at the grownups in their party clothes.

At the same time, adult stuff was boring after the first hour, and she wasn’t sure. “How long are you gonna be gone?”  

Dad wiggled his hand. “About four hours,” he said. “Maybe a little more. You can help Mrs. Danvers pick out a snack later, okay? Maybe watch a movie after you’ve played for a while?”

Four hours was a _long_ time to behave like a little lady. Billie sighed. “Take some pictures? I wanna see the dresses.”

Grandmama beamed. “We’ll look at all the society pages together, tomorrow,” she promised. “Though this isn’t really the _best_ sort of event for pretty dresses. Very mid-tier.”

“Okay,” Billie agreed. “Thank you, Mrs. Danvers, for letting me an’ Livvy come over.”

Uncle Bucky’s face did a thing, like he was surprised and trying not to be. “That was right sweet, Billie, thank you.”

***

Billie had been almost too old for the children’s museum that Dad and Uncle Bucky had taken them to. The place had been filled with lots of little kids, like not even old enough for school yet kids. But there had been some things for Billie to do, too -- a huge sandpit to play in, and a cool display with a water fountain that jumped all over, and one room full of _robots_ who would do things if you pushed buttons in a certain order, so that was definitely for bigger kids.

And Livvy had enjoyed herself, too, Billie thought, leaning against Uncle Bucky’s arm on the subway. She’d chased the water, shrieking with delight, and stacked blocks that were almost bigger than she was, and climbed a tower to slide down the other side. By the time they’d all met up to head back to Grandmama’s, Livvy had been demanding that Dad carry her, and before they’d gone three stops on the subway, she’d fallen asleep.

There were three more stops until they had to get off the subway. Billie had counted on the way out. She yawned and snuggled closer for a moment, then snapped upright. She was a big girl, she didn’t need Uncle Bucky to carry her or prop her up!

More people got on the subway, without very many people getting off. It was hot, despite the fact that the weather was cold outside (but no snow, snow would have been awesome, but there hadn’t been any -- too late in the season, Dad said) and everyone was wearing coats, which meant it was just that much hotter. Billie couldn’t even see the door to the car anymore, there were so many people in the way.

And every time there was an announcement over the speakers, Billie couldn’t understand it.

No one else looked like they were listening, anyway.

There were women on the train who were listening to their earphones, heads bobbing lightly in time to music Billie couldn’t hear. Men talking loudly. A cluster of kids about her age, except they were all speaking Chinese, were climbing on and off one of the bench seats. A woman pushing a double stroller and carrying another kid on her hip ran over Billie’s foot with her stroller wheel.

“Ow,” Billie said, but the woman either didn’t hear her or ignored her. Billie pouted about that for a bit, and then shrugged it off. Uncle Bucky was talking to Dad, something low-voiced and serious, about something they were going to do tomorrow, while Billie and Livvy stayed home with Grandmama.

The doors opened again, and a few more people got off than got on this time. Billie ran down the count in her head: the next stop was theirs. She squirmed off the seat, holding onto the pole in front of Uncle Bucky, to be ready to go.

Dad shifted in his seat and Livvy shook her head, not quite waking up, but her fluffy hat fell off and ended in the walkway. Uncle Bucky sighed -- audible even over the noisy car -- and bent to get it, just as the doors opened.

This was their stop! Billie pushed through the crowd and stepped over the crack onto the platform. More departing people pushed her a few steps away from the train, and as soon as she caught her balance, she turned around to reach for Uncle Bucky’s hand.

It wasn’t there.

Uncle Bucky wasn’t there. Neither was Dad.

They were-- She could see them, still on the subway! Why weren’t they getting off? She looked around, and realized this wasn’t the right stop, after all. Oh, no! She took a step toward the subway, to get back in, and the doors closed.

The doors had closed!

And she was outside, without her family!

Just as the subway lurched into motion, Uncle Bucky looked up and met her gaze through the dirty windows. His eyes got big-- and then the train was moving and he was gone.

He was _gone_ , and she was in the _wrong place_.

She was in the wrong place, and _all alone_.

Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t help but gulp out a little sob. What was she supposed to do?

There were a lot of people, and they were moving, some pushing toward the platform and some pushing away, but none of them even seemed to notice her. She dodged a few people before fetching up against the far wall, under a dirty advertisement poster in a locked case. There was a trash can there, but it didn’t look like anyone had taken any effort to get their trash in it, a little clutter of fast food wrappers and coffee cups around it. Not far away was a man, sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall.

She scrambled in her coat pocket for her phone, but it wasn’t there! Checked again. No phone. Oh, right. She’d given it to Uncle Bucky after it had fallen out of her pocket for the third time. She’d meant to grab it before they left the museum but she forgot.

“Hey,” said a voice. “You okay, kid?” It was a lady, with long black hair. She wasn’t standing too close, just sort of squinting at Billie.

Billie hesitated. She wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. The lady didn’t look particularly nice, or particularly mean. Just, like, a lady. Billie took a step backward and the man on the floor reached out and grabbed her ankle.

“Gotta dollah?” His hand was very dirty, and he didn’t smell very good. Billie could smell him, even over everything else, the overflowing trash can and the exhaust and the smell of the subway, too.

“Let her go,” the lady said firmly. She beckoned for Billie to step away from him, toward her. Billie didn’t know what to do. “Look, kid, you look lost. Are you lost?”

The man let her ankle go. “Probab’ly don’t got a dollah. You gotta dollah? Need t’ call my brother ‘bout a job in Florida.”

“No, I don’t have a dollar,” the lady said crisply. “Look, kid, if you’re lost, you go over there--” She pointed to a booth, covered in graffiti. Inside was a person wearing some kind of uniform. “You tell them you’re lost, and they’ll help you, okay?”

The woman watched her for a moment, and Billie nodded. She understood what she was being told, even if she didn’t know if she wanted to talk to the person in the booth either. Surely Dad, or Uncle Bucky would come back for her, wouldn’t they? How long would that take? It didn’t take too long between stops, but sometimes waiting for a train took a while. If they missed one… they’d waited a while to get on the train in the first place.

Maybe she could catch up with them? They’d get off at Grandmama’s house, but she didn’t know which train she should get back on. They didn’t all stop at the same places.

The woman sighed, pointed again, and then walked off.

“You sure you don’t gotta dollah?” The man asked. He didn’t grab her again, just looked sad and tired. “I’m real hungry, just a dollah?”

“Sorry,” Billie said. “My dad has all my money.” She looked at the booth uncertainly. Maybe she would wait a little bit and see if they came back for her, and then go talk to the person in the booth.

They knew where she was, she reminded herself. Uncle Bucky had seen her. Oh, they were going to be so mad... She wrapped her arms around herself. What could she do?

“M’ere kid,” the guy on the floor said. “Sit wiff me a bit. Don’t need to say nuthin’, just look sad. You look sad, right? You sad?”

“Yeah,” Billie said. “I guess so.” She didn’t really want to sit on the ground, though. It was filthy and gross. She shuffled a little closer to the guy, though.

“That’s good,” he said, and he smiled a little. He had a nice smile, even if his face was dirty. “I’m Danny. Or you can call me Mr. Sousa, if you want. Used to be in the Army. You know ‘bout Afghanistan?” He shoved his box that had a few crumpled bills and a lot of pennies and dimes in it a little further out, as the next wave of people got off their train. Some people dropped money in there, without looking too close at him. Or at Billie.

‘Ghanistan was a place that Kendra’s Uncle Sam had been, though he’d been in the Air Force, not the Army. He didn’t like it much, and one of his friends had died. Billie nodded. “I’m Billie,” she said. “I’m not s’posed to be here.”

Mr. Sousa laughed. “Yeah, kid, lotta us ain’t where we’re s’posed to be.” He patted a metal cane on the floor next to him. “Took a bucket of shrapnel in my hip. Pretty hard to get a job when you can’t stand up for more’n an hour or so.”

Another woman walked by, her heels against the floor. She peered at them for a minute, then dropped a folded up bill into the box.

“ _Nice_ , I think that was a ten,” Mr. Sousa said. “Check it, for me, Miss Billie?”

Billie opened the top of the box and fished out the bill on top. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s a ten.” She put it back into the box and closed the lid again. “Don’t you got anyone to take care of you?”

He shook his head. “Fell through the cracks. My brother, he’s down to Florida, but I ain’t seen him since my tour was up. Lost my girl while I was overseas. Nowhere to go.” More people came by, dropped money in the box. One of them patted Billie on the head before walking off.

Billie leaned against the wall and looked around some more. “That’s sad,” she said. “If we were at home, I bet my Uncle Bucky would help you find a job.”

“Yeah?” Mr. Sousa said. “What’s your uncle do? He’s the one you’re lookin’ for?”

“He owns a rest’rant,” Billie said. “Him and Dad. We’re here to visit Grandmama ‘cause she’s sad, but we’re going home in a few days.”

“That sounds nice,” Mr. Sousa said, then, “Your uncle, he look like you?”

“Huh?” Billie looked at Mr. Sousa, then followed his sharp gaze toward the exit to the street. “Uncle Bucky!” She took off running, arms outstretched.

Uncle Bucky was sweaty, panting for breath. Somewhere, he’d lost his coat, or taken it off. “Billie! Honey, oh, my god. Scared me to death.” He snatched her up and hugged her, hard. Once he patted her over, made sure she was still alive and not a figment, he backed out of the main path of people, toward the wall. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I was a little scared, but Mr. Sousa kept me company.” She nodded at Mr. Sousa. “This’s my uncle, the one I was tellin’ you about,” she said.

“And you look jus’ like him, Miss Billie,” Mr. Sousa said. “Sir, your niece here’s a nice kid. Good compan’y.” He shifted his little box again.

Uncle Bucky was a little stiff, not quite pushing Billie behind his legs, but kept one hand on her wrist. “She is a great kid,” Uncle Bucky said. “Mr…. Sousa, is it?”

“Used to be Corporal, back in the day,” Mr. Sousa said. “Little Miss tells me you’re visiting your mom. That’s good, good to do. Having a nice visit, gonna go home soon.”

“Well, she’s a bit of a chatterbox,” Uncle Bucky said. “My mother-in-law, but yes.” Bucky looked back down at Billie. “You’re sure you’re okay, honey? Your dad is so worried. We should get out of the subway and call him.”

“Okay,” Billie agreed. “You’ve got my phone, or I woulda just called you.” she pointed out.

“You wouldn’t get reception down here,” Uncle Bucky said, pulling out his own phone. “Walls are too thick. You did just right, honey, stayin’ where I last saw you.”

She let Uncle Bucky lead her toward the stairs, twisting to wave. “Bye, Mr. Sousa!”

Uncle Bucky stopped right before they got to the stairs. “That man, he was nice to you?” He hunkered down on one knee so he could look her right in the eye.

Billie nodded. “He asked me for a dollar, but Dad has all my money in his pocket so I wouldn’t spill it in the sand pit, and then he talked to me and I wasn’t so scared.”

Uncle Bucky took a deep breath, then went into his pocket. He handed her a folded up bill from his wallet. “Okay,” he said. “You go give him this, and tell him thank you, okay?”

“Okay!” She half-ran, half-skipped back over to Mr. Sousa. “Here, this is from Uncle Bucky,” she said, and put the money in the box. “He says thank you for bein’ so nice to me.”

Mr. Sousa smiled again, that friendly smile. “Wasn’t a problem, little miss,” he said. “You go on, and don’t get lost again, you hear?”

***

Dad was playing the piano again. Since they’d found the music room a few days ago, Dad had come in almost every day to play. Billie couldn’t hear any difference between how the music sounded then and how it sounded now, but Dad had said he was working out the rust and the kinks in his music, so he must have noticed some kind of change.

Billie liked watching him play. The music was pretty enough, but what she really loved was watching his hands dance over the keys. It was a little like watching him build something, but not. And sometimes he’d do something fancy like cross one hand over the other, and that was almost exciting -- would he get his hand back to the right spot in time to keep the song moving along right?

Sometimes Uncle Bucky came in to listen, too, or Grandmama, but right now it was just Dad and Billie, which meant Billie could stand right beside the piano to watch Dad’s hands. Grandmama insisted the piano sounded better if you sat on the couches, but Billie couldn’t really hear much of a difference in that, either.

Dad was playing something slow and kind of sad, and his mouth was moving like he was singing along without actually singing anything. And then his hands slipped and the piano made a weird crashing sort of noise, like when Livvy was banging on it, except louder, because Dad’s hands had slipped over a whole bunch of keys at once.

“Damn it,” Dad said, though he didn’t sound that mad. “Tangled up in my own fingers again.” He looked up at her with a smile. “You’re not bored of this yet?”

Billie shook her head. “I like it.”

“You want to learn to play something?”

Billie’s eyes got big. “I can’t do that!”

“Sure you can. Just takes practice. Anyway, the song I’m thinking of showing you only takes two fingers. Anyone can do _that_ , right?”

“Livvy couldn’t, I bet,” Billie said.

“Maybe not,” Dad allowed. “She’s not that great at counting yet, and it takes some counting.” He scooted over on the bench to make space for her. “Come on, give it a try.”

“What if it's bad?” Billie asked. “If I do it wrong?” She held her hands up, hovering over the keys with something like nerves. Uncle Bucky was pretty encouraging about trying new things, right? This was a new thing.

And it wasn't like she didn't practice other things, right? Soccer and skateboarding and coding. But music. Music was different. Even if she wasn't sure what the difference was.

“Then you can try again.” Dad took her hands and put them down again so her pointer fingers were resting on two keys. “These two, together, six times,” he said.

She pushed down on the keys. It wasn't quite like when Livvy mashed down on a bunch of keys, but it didn't really sound like music, either. She did it again, counting. One, two, three, pause, four, pause, five six!

“Good! Now, we’re going to try it again in a rhythm like this.” He tapped on the top of the piano, a quick, steady bounce of his finger. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. “Think you can do that?”

She already knew about rhythm, sort of. Coach made them dribble in time, for soccer practice. She started well, ping pingping, and then lost it. “Lemme try again,” she complained, and then did it several times, stopping each time she messed up to start over. She did a quick check at Dad’s face, but he didn’t seem to be running out of patience, the way he sometimes did when she wanted to restart a video game from a save point until she got the boss down exactly right.

Finally, though, it sounded just like when Dad did it.

“That’s a song?”

“That’s the first part of the song,” Dad said. “The second part is similar, with--” He moved one of her hands. “--these two keys, instead.”

They went through several sets of keys, up and down and out, and then back in to the middle. After a while, it sort of even started sounding like a song. Dad kept making her start from the beginning, every time he added a bunch of steps, too. There was a certain amount of satisfaction, when the prancy little tune emerged.

Finally, she pulled her hands away, stretching her fingers out -- hitting the keys so that the notes all came out the same was harder than she might have thought. “So, um… how does this--” she waved one aching hand at the keyboard “-- mean that?” She pointed at the music sheets that Dad looked at while he was playing, even though he hadn’t changed them over for this new song at all, and it certainly wasn’t what he was playing before.

“It’s like writing,” Dad said. He took down one of the sheets. “You just have to know how to read it. This symbol here, that means to play this note--” He touched the key to make it vibrate through the air. “--and hold it for a count of four. And this one here, that’s this note.” He played another one. “And because they’re stacked on top of each other, that means to play them at the same time.” He demonstrated that, too. “There’s a lot of little things to learn about reading music, but it’s not any harder than learning to read the alphabet, really. Just takes practice. If you’re really curious, we can look into some kind of lessons for you at home. Not piano, probably -- Bucky’s right that we can’t fit one into the house, not even an upright -- but some other kind of instrument, maybe.”

Billie considered that. “Do you play any other instruments?” She could think of a few; Kendra’s dad, on the few occasions she’d seen him, played a harmonica. Usually _Pop! Goes the Weasel_ , which made everyone laugh. Guitar, that was an instrument. There were all sorts of horns, bendy looking things. Drums. Did drums count? She almost asked, but instead just bit down on her lip and waited. Sometimes Dad said more, if she wasn’t interrupting him.

“Not as well as I play the piano,” Dad said. “I noodled around a little bit with guitar for a while -- it’s cooler than the piano -- and I learned my scales on a flute, but that wasn’t for me at all. I knew people, back when I was taking piano lessons, who could just pick up any old instrument and figure out how to play it as soon as they worked out their scales, but I’m not that talented.”

Theoretically… (that was one of her favorite words, and she liked to say it putting emphasis on each syllable) that meant… “So, I could learn to do something that you don’t know how to do?”

“You can learn to do _lots_ of things I don’t know how to do, buttercup,” Dad promised. Some kind of weird smile was pulling at his mouth.

Billie actually turned on the bench to look at him. “Uncle Bucky says you’re th’ smartest person around,” she told him, and that sounded almost like she was accusing Dad of something bad, but she really didn’t mean to. It was just so _frustrating_ sometimes. Everyone she knew was _good_ at things. Really good at things. Uncle Bucky and Aunt Nat were both really good with skateboards, even though Billie tried really, really hard. And Uncle Steve was the best cook. And Dad was better with robots and computers, and… Billie was just. Average.

“I am pretty smart,” Dad said, though it didn’t sound like he was bragging. “But that doesn’t mean I know everything. Uncle Bucky and Uncle Steve are both better cooks than I am. And you’re better at skateboarding and soccer than me. And your mom was a really great nurse, and I get all queasy and grossed-out if you just skin a knee.”

That _was_ true. Dad was super, super bad about it when she got hurt. If she needed help when she got hurt, she always went to Uncle Bucky, or Aunt Nat. “Mom was good,” she said. “Dr. Cho used t’ say that they couldn’t manage without her. She gotta award for it, once. Nurse Practitioner of the Year. There was a little wooden picture thing, with her name on it. It hung up in th’ hall at the hospital.”

Dad nodded. “See? And being smart would only get me halfway to being even a kind of okay nurse, because I could learn all the book stuff pretty easy, but as soon as they asked me to give someone a shot or draw blood?” He mimed passing out, landing on the piano keys with a great crash.

Billie giggled. “Giving someone a shot is easy,” she said, because Mom had said that a lot, too. “It’s pleb… pleeb. Pleeb botonist? That’s hard. Drawing blood out. It wants to stay inside, is what Mom said.” Billie considered all the information. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dad sat up and looked at her seriously.

“Okay,” she said. “I wanna learn t’ play an instrument.”

“All right. Any ideas which one? Or do you want to wait and see what the school offers?”

Billie made a face. “Yeah, okay, the school teaches music, next year, right?” She knew she had electives next year, but she hadn’t really thought about it much beyond not wanting to take the same class that Jeffrey was taking, because he was always being annoying. She was pretty sure Jeffrey was taking Auto Mechanics as his elective, which was kinda bad, because she sort of liked poking at cars. Dad and Mr. Scott both fixed cars sometimes. But if she did cars, then it was just another thing where Dad was going to be _better_. So. Something else. Music. She could do that. That would be good.

 


	6. A Little History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt fill: someone asked for Steve's point of view on the scene from [Safe and the Sound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573350) where Tony (almost) runs away.

There was something nice and comforting about laying in bed after the alarm went off. Knowing that he didn’t have anywhere to be and nothing to do. Steve wouldn’t sleep too late; he liked to get in his long run before the day’s heat really set in. But at least for a few minutes, it was nice to just lounge around.

He’d gotten up for a few minutes when Nat’s alarm rang, vibrating her bedside table. Nat was not a morning person and her alarm could wake the dead. (Although it frequently did not wake Nat.) Wandered blearily into the bathroom to pee before Nat managed to even get one leg out of the bed. That way he wouldn’t have to go downstairs while she was showering. He practically fell back into bed and cuddled up to the pillow.

“I hate you,” Nat said.

“You do not,” Steve murmured, entirely unconcerned. Nat expressed this particular hatred every single Thursday, when he had a half day and she had to work the lunch shift.

He wasn’t quite asleep, but the bed was soft and comfortable and he was thinking about maybe skipping the run entirely and just being lazy. It could happen.

Except quite suddenly, Nat shrieked from the bathroom. A torrent of Russian filled the air, and it didn’t sound like Nat’s usual half-fond scolding, either.

“Natasha?” Steve was out of the bed before he was even aware that he was going to move, which meant the sheets were tangled around his legs and he practically fell on the floor. “You okay?” He kicked his leg free, knocking several pillows off the bed in the process. He got a hand on the doorframe and managed to get his eyes open, heart pounding in his chest with sudden adrenaline.

Nat was standing on one foot in the bathroom, hopping up and down, and the other was poised over... oh, joy. Cat puke. With a distinct footprint in it. “Ew, yuck, uck, disgusting!” Nat chanted. “Liho! I am going to skin you and serve you as an appetizer!” She glared at Steve. “And you! How did you not notice this!”

“Uh--” How was this his fault, suddenly? “I guess I stepped over it? I didn’t exactly have my eyes open yet?”

Nat put her foot down on the far side of the bathroom mat, wiping it off, and then scowled at Steve. “You went to pee without opening your eyes?” She seemed to consider it. “This, I believe. It explains much, Steven. Still! You were in here first, and you did not warn me! I cannot possibly consider marrying such a man.”

“I know where the toilet is,” Steve protested, feeling the back of his neck heat. “Maybe she just did it? Is it still warm?”

Wrong question! Nat’s eyes went wide and utterly disgusted. “Would you like to step in it as well, and find out?” she said. “No, of course it is not fresh!” She shook her finger at him. “I am owed _much_ for this, Steven!”

“She’s your cat, get _her_ to bring you a glass of wine,” Steve suggested, although he was pretty sure he was already in the suds. He started doing a mental inventory: did he have any chocolate chips left over? He could make a chocolate chip pancake, that was usually good. No mimosa, she had to be to work in -- he glanced over his shoulder at the clock -- less than an hour. No time for messing around, either. “Hop in the shower. I’ll clean this up and get your breakfast?”

Nat put her nose up, refusing to be mollified. “Only because I will be late, otherwise,” she cautioned. “I am still owed!” She dropped her robe without waiting for him to turn around, and then leaned over to turn on the water.

Good God, that was _unfair_. Like, serious amounts of… “Hnnngg,” Steve managed. He wasn’t entirely sure how Nat managed to look so damn good first thing in the morning. Steve always looked like he’d been wrestling with demons in his sleep, hair a twisted mess and pillow creases all up and down his face. He considered the clock. Nope, there really was not enough time for a quickie. He ran one hand over the curve of her ass, teasing the skin there. “I’ll make it up to you later?” It was Thursday, at least, so they would probably be home on time.

“I should hope so,” Nat said, and flashed him a heated look over her shoulder before she stepped into the shower stall and pulled the curtain shut.

There really were days that Steve wished they worked for someone he didn’t like quite so much. Nailing Nat in the shower sounded like a much more pleasant way to spend the morning, but it would make her late. He grumbled and grabbed a wad of toilet paper to clean up the cat puke. Tossed it in the toilet, then grabbed his sweats off the back of the chair.

They tented out a bit, but there wasn’t much he could do about that but wait.

Liho presented herself for breakfast a nanosecond before Steve got to the kitchen. “Mow.”

“I can’t decide if I should kill and stuff you, or thank you,” Steve told her, getting her bowl out of the dishwasher. Half a can of wet food, and she was out from underfoot for at least ten minutes, or until she started trying to scratch the wall into her dish. After so many years, you’d think even something as dumb as a cat would realize that it wasn’t going to happen.

“Chips… chips…” He checked the box all the way on the top shelf; it was his habit to store ingredients he might need later as far out of reach as possible, but that didn’t mean Nat wouldn’t get a stepstool and go after it.

He did not have any morsels -- she must have stolen the last bag -- but he did have a box of red velvet cake mix. Well, that would work. Red velvet pancakes with a little bit of cream cheese frosting... Yep, there was the cream cheese and some powdered sugar.

He got to work and had her plate ready just as she came into the kitchen.

Wearing her towel.

Holy _Christ_. His morning wood came back with a vengeance.

She took her plate out of his hands without even noticing his stunned response. “Ooh, red velvet!” she chirped. “This earns you one point back into my good graces.” She got a fork out of the dishwasher -- how could she bend over like that and not have the towel fall off? -- and went to work on the food.

“You are _evil_ ,” he told her, then yelped, because the pancake he’d poured for himself had stopped bubbling in the middle and needed to be flipped. It was only a little toasted, but was probably going to be a bit dry. Ah well, that’s what God invented butter for.

He rolled up the pancake as soon as it wasn’t too hot to touch and ate it in a few bites, trying not to watch all the obscene things Nat was doing with her food. She still had to get her hair dry and makeup on. Fuuuuuck, she licked the cream cheese off her fork with one of those low groans.

“I am gonna go for my run,” Steve told her. He leaned over and licked the side of her mouth, catching a few crumbs. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” He’d have to make sure to rev the bike’s engine when he pulled into the lot, get her attention. She always did like the look of a man on a motorcycle.

He dusted his chest with talcum and slid into one of his fitted running shirts, snapping the fabric into place. Grabbed his bag and snapped it around his waist. It was too hot to run in the summer without some sort of hydration and he didn’t like carrying stuff when he ran, it threw off his rhythm. Socks, shoes. “Love you!”

“Of course you do; I am delightful!”

Steve stopped in the door. “I am your fiancé,” Steve pointed out. “You’re morally and legally obligated to love me back.”

“Mm, no,” Nat said, licking cream cheese off her fork. “You let me step in cat puke. Until you make it up to me, you are only, what is the word? Fuckbuddy.”

Steve considered that for a moment. “Great,” he said. “I’ll text you for a booty call.” And he shut the door behind him before Nat could screech in outrage.

It was already ridiculously hot; walking out into the day was like being slapped with a hot, wet blanket. Condensation beaded on his throat almost immediately. He stretched, then started toward the main road at a rapid walk. He put his earbuds in and tapped his playlist.

By the time he’d gotten through two songs, he was up to a good paced jog, and letting the endorphins carry him on.

He turned off the main boardwalk, headed down the road. A long run, that’s what he needed. He loved the feel of his muscles stretching, the way the road felt under his shoes. He gave a nod and smile to some of the other morning regulars. He didn’t know their names, but most of them were familiar.

He was about to a halfway point -- he’d make a loop around Harry-Rex’s hardware store and head home -- when he saw another early riser. He looked familiar, too, from a distance, and Steve almost raised a hand to wave before he realized what he was seeing.

He staggered to a halt, breath aching in his chest suddenly.

“Tony?” He shoved his sunglasses into his hair to squint in the bright morning light. Tony’s face was beet red from the heat and he was sweating profusely, which wouldn’t be half so worrisome except he was at least ten miles from Dockside.

And he didn’t look like he was going for a _walk_.

Tony looked at Steve. His lips thinned and his eyes closed briefly, for all the world like Sam’s sister, praying for strength to deal with whatever nonsense her kids had gotten up to now. “Steve,” he sighed. Was that sweat or tears gathering at the corners of his eyes?

His first thought was that something had happened to Bucky, that Tony was looking for help, but that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? “Are… is everyone… you look terrible. Are you all right?” Bucky wouldn’t let Tony _walk_ to the clinic would he? That didn’t make sense, either.

Tony shook his head. “It’s okay, Steve. You can just... finish your run.”

Tony was wearing a _backpack_.

“You’re running,” Steve said, flatly. That sounded accusatory; Tony flinched. Shit, shit, shit. He knew that Tony had been in a bad situation before he arrived. Well, he probably wouldn’t have known if Nat hadn’t pointed out all the danger signs. She’d been very firm about the fact that he needed to stop looking so _threatening_. Steve had actually been offended; he wasn’t the kind of asshole that would hurt people, and Tony was a grown man, not a kid.

“Men can also be abused, Steven,” she’d told him. “And he does not need you making light of it.”

“Again,” Steve added, because Tony had run away once before. “What happened?” His hands tightened; Tony looked terrified and Steve was acutely aware of how much bigger he was than Tony. He made himself relax.

“I can’t stay,” Tony said, and it came out broken and small. “Don’t...” He hitched a breath, tried again, eyes focused on the ground just past Steve. “Tell Nat it’s not her fault.”

It was hot as Hades; Steve brushed a hand over his face. His hand came back dripping. Tony had a backpack, but he didn’t seem to have brought any water with him. That wasn’t smart. And Tony was damn smart, so he was more scared than thinking it through.

“Look, come with me, for a bit. I’ll buy you a juice, and you tell me why you’re leaving. And then I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. I’ll borrow Nat’s car-- Wait, she’ll be on her way to work by now.” If they stood there much longer, Nat would probably drive right by them, and Steve wasn’t sure how Tony would react if he thought he was being boxed in. “I’ll... I’ll call a cab and take you to the airport, if you want. Buy you a ticket. Just tell me what’s happened.” He needed to get Tony to sit, calm down, breathe. Without saying _any_ of those things, because no one ever relaxed just because they were told to.

For a long moment, Steve thought Tony was going to say no, turn him down, brush past him and keep walking. He could see the hesitation on Tony’s face. He tried not to push, to let Tony come to a decision. It was hard, waiting. But then Tony slumped, as if defeated. “Okay. Fine.”

It was hard not to touch. Tony was stoop-shouldered, like he was trying to make himself even smaller. Defenseless. Steve wasn’t sure how he’d missed it; Steve had seen that look before: on his Mama’s face, when Joe Rogers had been on a bender. _Don’t see me, don’t notice I’m here, don’t recognize that I did something wrong._

Tony swayed as he walked; Steve wasn’t even sure he was aware of it. His shirt was soaked with sweat and as they turned, his face went from red to pale, ashy. “Here.” He didn’t want to give Tony his water bottle, give him an excuse not to stay. What did he have-- ah! He handed Tony one of his caffeine packets. He didn’t use them very often; they were more for full marathons, or rock-climbing. But he kept one, just in case.

Tony looked at it, uncomprehending, and then blinked a few times. His hands trembled as he ripped open the top -- the physical exhaustion, or something more emotional? “Thanks,” he mumbled around the mouthful of gel.

The little hipster place was full of early morning tourists undoing all the good of their workouts by drinking over-processed whey powder and fruit smoothies. The sort of place Steve wouldn’t normally be caught dead in. Not that he had any objections to dessert, but at least _own it_. He got Tony a seat and went to get them drinks, trying to plan what to say. Why, why, why did it have to be him? He was shit at this sort of thing; Nat would know exactly what to do.

He was tempted to call her, or at least text, but the way Tony was watching him, like he expected Steve to leap out of line and tackle him if he so much as moved out of the chair, made him change his mind. Tony was all the way back to full on jumpy, like that black eye of his had made a miraculous reappearance.

Jesus, Bucky was going to die. Straight up fucking die. Steve had been watching that blossoming romance with almost as much anticipation as Nat. His brother, his best friend… deserved a good man.

He was going to be heartbroken, if Tony left.

It was going to have to be Steve.

There wasn’t anyone else.

“Here,” he said, sliding the drink over to Tony. “Blueberry peach. With an energy shot. You look like you need it.” He gave Tony a joking grin -- _everyone_ knew about Tony’s caffeine addiction. There were regular customers who joked about Tony and his coffee.

But Tony didn’t look up to see it. He just dragged the cup over and took a suck like he expected it to poison him. And that maybe he’d be grateful if it did.

“Nasty, I know,” Steve said. “So… what’s got you so shook up?”

Tony fidgeted with the cup, wiping the condensation off. Took another sip of his drink, and closed his eyes. “Little history,” he said, almost a whisper. He fell silent then, until Steve wanted to prod him or shake him or _something_ to make him move again.

And then Tony started talking, and Steve wanted to take it back. Tony’s dad, it turned out, had been every bit as awful as Joe Rogers had been. Maybe worse. And Tony, instead of escaping that and finding himself among loving friends like Steve had done, had fallen into _another_ abuser’s hands. It was exactly as bad as Nat had guessed, and Steve found himself wondering why he ever bothered doubting her.

“Never again,” Tony said, and there was finally some life to his voice, finally something other than that awful, flat monotone recital. “Not _ever. Never_.” He looked up at Steve and there was a spark of anger there, of defiance, and also fear, because...

_Great_. Because he looked like Tony’s fucking ex-boyfriend. No wonder Tony had been terrified of him. “I’m going to dye my hair blue at the earliest opportunity. God, what a horrible thing to go through. I know; my dad... Well, at least he left when I was still little.” _Shut up, idiot. It’s not about you._ Which did nothing to stop him from remembering. Joe hadn’t hit him all that often, but that was because his Mama had spent as much time as she could getting between them. He tried not to remember, he hated remembering, listening to his Mama trying not to cry, holding it in. Just like Tony was, right now. _Jesus Christ._ “But I can imagine how strong you’d have to be, to face that alone, and to leave. With nothing. We all know, we all saw, how little you had.”

Tony shook his head, shaking off the compliment. He stirred his drink with the straw, but didn’t take another sip. “So you can imagine what went through my mind when I found out that--” Tony choked, swallowed hard, looked away again. “He’s got a violent streak. Broke that guy’s arm, at least, maybe more. I can’t... I can’t allow that.”

Steve recoiled violently, shoving the chair back and listening to it scrape across the floor. There wasn’t any possible way he could mistake _that_ meaning. Bucky. Bucky and that scumbucket, Rumlow. “Who told you about Rumlow?” Someone had been goddamn running their mouth about shit they didn’t understand, and Steve was seeing red. He’d done everything, everything he could possibly do to protect Bucky from that fallout, and he’d failed. _Again_. He closed his eyes, head throbbing.  

“Does it matter?” There was a hint of challenge in Tony’s voice there. _Don’t give me your excuses_. “I know how people gossip here, but I checked the archives at the newspaper, and it’s right there, black and white.”

“Yeah, black and white,” Steve scoffed. “It’s not what happened. Look, I’m not mad at you. I’m… furious about the situation.” That was putting it mildly. If he could… if he’d only known. He would go back in time and break Brock’s lying neck. Tony didn’t look convinced. “You can get up and walk away, if you need to. I’ll understand. Or… look, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, wherever you feel safe. Airport, bus stop. Just… can you listen to me for a few minutes?”

Tony looked skeptical. He sat back in his seat, expression suddenly closed off. “I’ll listen,” he said, but it wasn’t a forgiving start.

He wanted to start from the beginning, Bucky and how bad he’d gotten. Day drinking and bouts of self-loathing. He’d run away from every speck of responsibility. And then there was Brock Rumlow, with his pirate’s smile. Encouraging all the bad shit that Steve was trying to get Bucky out of. He would never slut-shame his brother, he wouldn’t. But honestly, Bucky would have been so much better off if he’d kept his damn pants on. He’d let Brock lead him around by the dick. Tony didn’t look like he had any patience at all.

“Little history,” Steve said, unconsciously mimicking Tony. He remembered that first time, getting a damn good look at Brock and Bucky fucking in the men’s room during the damn dinner hour. He could stand to never see that again, honestly. “They weren’t lovers. Not exactly. Rumlow’s not capable of loving anyone. They fucked. Bar hopping.” Drugs, maybe. He’d never asked Bucky, not wanting to know. A lot of drinking. Too much drinking. “Did Bucky tell you he used to sing karaoke?”

Tony’s eyes welled again. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, a little resentfully, as if karaoke were the root of all his problems.

“So, they’re out with one of their friends, scrawny little guy, Kurt Wagner. He’s like fourteen, fifteen years old, way too young to be hanging with Bucky, but Bucky got him a fake ID, so he could go drinking with them. And…” Steve trailed off, not sure how to explain. “Kurt’s parents, they were born again, you know. Deep religious. Kurt wasn’t out, not to them. They’d have beaten the sin out of him. You know the type?” Steve took a few breaths and a long drink of his rapidly melting smoothie. “Bucky told me, after. He didn’t know where they’d gone, maybe for a smoke -- both Brock and Bucky smoked like damn chimneys at the time. When they didn’t come back, he got worried, went out looking.”

Bucky had looked like a dead man, when he told Steve about it. Like something inside him had broken. “Brock Rumlow raped that kid, that fifteen year old kid, in a filthy alley. Bucky pulled him off, made him stop, but the damage was done. Yeah, he beat the hell out of Rumlow. Broke his arm. Lost total control. Kurt ran away, rather than risk his parents finding out. They would have-- God knows. Kurt got a friend to back him up, said he was never anywhere near the place. And Rumlow, he was a scumbag, but he was a smart scumbag. Told the cops that Bucky attacked him, tried to--” They’d arrested Bucky for attempted rape. Steve had never seen anyone so horrified and sickened as Bucky when he’d found out what Rumlow was accusing him of. “Tried to turn it all around. He and I’ve been arrested a few times before, so that was held against him. His lawyer convinced him to plea bargain it down to just assault. Bucky said he was guilty. Got sixty days, and two years probation.”

Tony’s eyes were huge, and there was something happening with his mouth that Steve couldn’t identify. Nat probably would’ve known what it meant. “It was... defense?” It came out as half a question. Tony put his hands over his eyes. “He didn’t...” He shook all over like Lucky coming in out of the ocean. “He’s your friend,” Tony said, and his voice had hardened. “If he lied to you...”

_You didn’t see him. Bucky would never. How can you even think that?_ That wouldn’t help. “Yeah. I’d believe Bucky. No matter what.” ‘ _Til the end of the line._ ”As it is… well, that friend that Kurt got to alibi him? Is Wanda’s brother. Peter… Peter had a nervous breakdown, when he found out how things went down with the judge. He tried to come clean, tell everyone what happened. I don’t know, he wasn’t much older than Kurt, eighteen, just barely. The prosecutor threatened to have him arrested for perjury. And even then, there wouldn’t have been a retrial. The conviction looked good on everyone’s record.” Everyone except Bucky’s, but no one really cared what happened to one gay man, one who had an arrest record already. “Peter’s fucked up about it. It was bad. But he’ll tell you, if you don’t believe me. He told Bucky _everything_. Look, I know how it looks, I do. But there was so much homophobia, so much dirt. No one wanted to back Bucky at all. Even the ones who think Bucky’s not a bad guy, they think maybe he made an unwanted pass and that it got violent.”

“Let me guess,” Tony said, and his eyes were haunted, looking at something far away and possibly years ago. “Brock conveniently turned up with a girlfriend shortly after the arrest. Certainly during the investigation. Someone who fawned over his injuries and made a lot of noise and above all made him look _less gay_.”

Steve allowed himself a bitter little laugh. No one even knew where the hell she’d come from; but she’d suddenly appeared, hanging all over Brock and lying through her teeth. Well, Bucky’d known some pretty bad people for a while; it wasn’t hard to imagine someone from that crowd would have done for Rumlow, just to get something. Hootch, or drugs, or just money. “You know, I didn’t trust you when you first showed up. You shoulda seen the way Bucky looked at you.” _Like you set the moon in the sky, just for him. Someone to protect, the way he’d failed to protect Kurt._ “I hadn’t seen him interested in anybody for a long time, and there you were, all helpless and lost and too good to be true. I thought… well, nevermind what I thought.”

“You thought I was a con.” Tony said it matter-of-factly, without offense.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Tony stirred at his drink again. It was half-melted now. “If I had a friend, like you two are friends, I’d want to protect the hell out of them, too.”

“You have friends, Tony,” Steve told him. Wanting to reach for him, and not quite daring to. “You have at least two friends who will protect the hell out of you. Look, you… you listened, held up your end of the bargain. Where do you want me to take you?”

_Please, please._ Steve wasn’t a religious man, he’d decided that a God who let husbands hurt wives, who let fathers hurt their kids, wasn’t a god worth following. But Steve was going to be Tony’s _friend_. And if that meant putting the man on a train and watching him leave, Steve was going to do it.

Bucky would never forgive him.

“Steve, I--” Tony sat, staring at the chipped plastic of the table as if it held all the secrets of life. He drew in a breath that shuddered and choked. “God, I fucked up. How... How the hell do I apologize for this? How do I tell him I thought I had to run from him without breaking his heart?”

There wasn’t anything left but the truth. “You know that we all knew about this, right? I mean, not the specifics, but… Nat put some of it together, and she told the rest of us, because you were so scared, and we wanted to help you, but we didn’t want to scare you more, or… The point I’m trying to make -- badly, I admit -- is that Bucky knows you’ve had a hard time of it. Yeah, he’s gonna be upset. But he’ll understand, he’ll get over it. He loves you.”

Thank God for Nat. Steve probably thought it eighty times a day, at the very least. But this? He would not have gotten through this without her insight. He just wished she was _here_.

Tony nodded slowly, and then stopped and looked at Steve, hard. It was -- if he hadn’t been so completely exhausted and drained already -- almost a glare. It was a welcome change from the flat, hopeless expression he’d worn before. “This is enough of a mess,” Tony said with a hint of heat, “without you getting melodramatic about it.”

Steve almost laughed at that. His high school sweetheart, Peggy, had accused him of being melodramatic all the time. She’d gone off to college and they couldn’t make the long-distance thing work, but Steve suspected they wouldn’t have lasted anyway. Always making mountains out of molehills, she would say. Or, here comes Rogers, bringing the chill. She’d been sarcastic that way. “What?”

“You can’t just... tell me that he _loves me_ to make me stop panicking about feeling guilty! That’s... That’s not helpful at all.” Tony still had one hand cupped around his now mostly-melted smoothie, but he waved the other one for emphasis, his glare solidifying, if only for a brief moment.

No, it really probably wasn’t, but Steve hadn’t been doing it to make a point. He just opened his mouth and Steve Rogers fell out. That was a thing. It happened. “I can see that,” he said. “It’s absolutely not _working_. As it happens, getting people to do and feel the way I think they ought to; well, that’s not my skill. I’ll leave that to my exceptionally horrible girlfriend.” He sucked the last of his smoothie down, then pointed the cup at Tony. “I’m just telling you what I see.” And that was nothing but the truth. If Tony couldn’t see the freaking heart-eyes Bucky was giving him all the time, like he was picking out wedding colors and curtains, than Tony was being blind and headstrong, and needed to be smacked in the head with a clue-by-four.

“Fiancée,” Tony corrected, probably out of habit, because Nat had been very insistent that the correct term be used immediately, and the whole staff had gotten in the habit of chipping in to correct Steve when he slipped up.

“Nope, not anymore,” Steve said. “I’m not marriage material anymore. I didn’t notice that Liho horked up her catfood on the bathroom floor and let Nat step in it. Barefoot. I’m relegated back to fuckbuddy status until I provide her with wine, chocolate, and orgasms.” Honestly, any psychologist looking at his and Nat’s relationship could have written a paper about how dysfunctional it was, but it worked for them.

Tony smiled, just a little bit. “And you’ve been sitting here talking to _me_? Buddy, you may need to reconsider your priorities.”

Steve almost opened his mouth to tell Tony that it was part of the game, that he and Nat would be terrible and tease each other all day, and that by the time they were alone, they’d fall on each other like starving weasels (a phrase that particularly annoyed his fiancée). “Well, I’ll just have to work extra hard on the orgasms. Not exactly a hardship, I mean have you seen that woman?” He made a lustful sort of noise in his throat, happy to see Tony smiling a bit. Nudging him in the right direction.

Because _God_ , if Tony kept running now, because he was embarrassed, or scared what Bucky would think, or say, or do… without ever talking it out? Then he’d never stop running, never settle, and that would be a shame. For more than just Tony.

Tony heaved out a sigh on a groan, but his lip was still curving upward. “Seriously,” he complained, “you all have to stop trying to get me to think about Nat naked. It’s not good for my health.”

“Better than Bucky thinking about me, naked. That was awkward,” Steve said. Not that Bucky really had, honestly. They’d tried the dating thing. It had been an absolutely miserable experience. At least they’d both had enough of a sense of humor about it to joke, and then move on. “Seriously, though. Airport? Train station?” He took a breath. “Home?”

Tony looked past Steve, toward the windows that wrapped around the building. His gaze was far away, seeing something other than the parking lot or the road beyond it. Weighing his options. Finally, he took a breath and looked down into his smoothie with a small nod. “Home.”

He’d just hung up the phone with the cab company when his phone buzzed. “Timing,” Steve said as he answered it. “You’ve got absolutely none. You couldn’t have called me fifteen--”

“Tony has gone missing.”

“--oh. Oh. No, yeah. He’s… he’s right here, Nat, calm down--” Steve winced and held the phone away from his ear as Nat screeched. One of these days, he would remember not to say that. He wasn’t sure what she said, but he just went on with it. “I saw him when I was out running.”

“He is with you? Steven, he is running away.” Nat sounded breathless. “Running scared. You must be very careful with him, yes?”

“He’s _fine_ ,” Steve said, watching Tony try to pretend desperately like he wasn’t listening. “Little dehydrated, and his nose is already peeling, but he’s fine. Safe. We’re waiting on a cab. I’ll bring him home, you’ll see.” Nat’s voice was thick, cracked, like she’d been screaming, or crying. Either was a good possibility. She’d grabbed hold of Tony with both hands, adopted him like he was her own kin. Nat loved fiercely, or not at all. She wasn’t about to give up on Tony, no matter what.

Nat muttered something prayerful in Russian. “That is good, that is... Bucky will be relieved. He is a mess. I don’t like it. You will be careful, not to frighten him more, so that he will come home.”

Steve scoffed a little. “Tony’s fine. He’s my friend, too, you know. Look, we gotta go meet the cab out on the corner, okay? Be there… twenty minutes, maybe? Love you.” He hung up before she could say anything else. He didn’t know what Tony wanted Nat to know, and while Steve knew himself well enough that he’d probably give her a play by play later on, it was more than a little rude to do it while Tony was _standing there_.

“Well, that was fun,” Steve said to Tony. “Apparently Buck’s freakin’ out, and Nat’s worried that you’ve hurt yourself.” Which wasn’t entirely true, but close enough.

Tony grimaced. “They’re going to be pissed,” he guessed.

“ _Nobody_ is mad at you, Tony,” Steve said. “Worried. Totally different thing. They just want to know you're safe. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.” He hesitated, then went ahead and put an arm around Tony’s shoulder, getting them up and moving toward the street. Steve’d been taking cabs in Virginia Beach most of his life, and those shitheads would absolutely run the meter while waiting. “Promise. Everything’s gonna work out.”

***

“Lucky, go sit in the office,” Steve said, pointing. The dog whined, licked his chops, gave Steve the pleading look. “No. Office. I’ll bring you a plate.” He never really could tell how much the dog understood, but Lucky gave out a rough bark and headed down the hall without any further attempts to sweet talk. “You think they’ll be back out today, or should I go ahead and call Sharon and Sam?”

“Call Sharon and Sam,” Nat said. She pulled up a plate and started breaking hamburgers onto it for Lucky. “If they come out, we will send them back in. They need this.”

Steve sent out some texts, then washed his hands. The act of scrubbing down was soothing, even if he’d have rather taken a shower. But he was at work now, and very few people ever asked to see the cook in a diner. No one would care that he was still in his workout gear. Except he was sticky and sweaty. Ug. Not that he could do anything about it now. “Get me a towel? Buck should have a few in the office.” He ducked his head under the spigot and scrubbed his scalp with both hands. The cold water felt good. He dried his hair with one of Clint’s ugly purple towels and left it hanging around his neck to absorb any drips.

“So… uh, do I even want to know how this happened?” Steve asked, scraping the grill clean. What the hell had happened to his grill? There were burned food scraps all over it.

“Bucky,” Nat said, explanation and blame all in one. “When we realized Tony had gone.”

“He musta left last night,” Steve said. “I was almost ready to turn around when I recognized him. That’s a long way to walk, if you’re not used to it. Poor kid.”

Nat looked unusually solemn. “I wish he had trusted us, to tell us. But I see why he could not.”

“Coulda used your help,” Steve said, almost plaintively. “As it was, I had to muddle through that on my own. I don’t think I fucked it up too bad. But woman, you owe me. Big time. That was _rough_.”

Nat swooped in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Another, and another, peppering his face with kisses. “You are my hero,” she promised. “You saved the day.”

“I sure hope so,” Steve said. “This goes south and there’s gonna be a hell of a lot broken beyond repair.” He hadn’t been exaggerating to Tony, not in the slightest. He’d never seen Bucky so desperately in love before. If this went bad, it was going to be ugly. He leaned against Nat, letting her soothe him a bit.

“But just think, if it goes well, how much happier our friends will be,” Nat said. She smiled at him. “They deserve that chance. And you saved it for them.”

 


	7. No Place Like Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billie has a costume idea.  
> Livvy turns out to be just as opinionated as her sister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [justanotherpipedream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherpipedream)
> 
> For the Halloween prompts, I was hoping you'd be willing to dip into your Sandbridge verse for 31 - "What a way to spend Halloween" for Winteriron, or any other of those pairings? Thanks!

Livvy looked at the picture that her sister was pointing at with as much disgust as a not-quite-four year old could manage. “No! _Yion_!”

“Livvyyyyyy,” Billie whined, “but Dorothy has to have Toto! And you’d be so _cute_!”

“No,” Livvy said, crossing her arms and imitating Billie’s best huffy attitude, including the cocked head and stubbornly thrust out chin. “No puppies! Puppy was _yast year_.” Which was true, she had been a puppy last year (and, Tony would admit, the year before that, too. Livvy had an unreasonable obsession with puppies, right up until she didn’t anymore.) “Yion! Raor!” She pounced on an imaginary hapless prey animal -- represented by one of her stuffed pokemon’s and shook her head.

“That’s needlessly gruesome,” Bucky said, watching Livvy pretend to maul the animal. “Why are we slaughtering bulbasoars in the living room?”

“We’re discussing Halloween options,” Tony explained. “Billie wants to do a themed costume, with her as Dorothy and Livvy as Toto. Liv would rather be the Cowardly Lion, apparently.”

“Yion,” Livvy said. “Yion’s got crown! Toto is _dumb_!”

Tony made a _you see?_ gesture at Bucky. “What if Liv is the lion,” he suggested, “and we find you a stuffed animal to serve as Toto?” he offered Billie.

“Well, that’s dumb,” Billie said. “Like, Tin Man’s Dorothy’s best friend, we’ll look _stupid_ , Dorothy an’ the Lion an’ a toy.”

“Hmmm, can we tone it down with the dumb and stupid around here? Those aren’t nice words,” Bucky remarked.

Billie’s rolled eyes and dubious expression made it clear that they’d now moved into _adults are stupid_ territory. “This is my last year,” she complained, voice spiraling up. “Liv’s got years an’ years to dress like she wants, it’s not _fair_.”

“No one’s saying you can’t dress up however you want,” Tony pointed out. “We’re just saying that you don’t necessarily get to choose what _Livvy_ dresses up as. At least she’s staying with the Oz theme.”

“And it’s not your _last year_ ,” Bucky said, reasonably. “You just can’t go trick-or-treating next year. You can dress up for parties, and jus’ cause you want to for as long as you want.” That was a stupid law, as far as Tony thought, that kids over the age of 13 couldn’t go -- hell, half the kids in their neighborhood were taking younger siblings and cousins anyway. Not that Tony had _ever_ gone; Howard didn’t approve, and Mom hadn’t wanted him _alone on the streets_. The kind of seeing it in movies trick-or-treating was as close as he’d ever gotten until that first year that Billie had been with them, and Bucky had dumped the whole thing into Tony’s lap, since Dockside got a lot of local kids and parents in after the trick-or-treating was done.

Tony had thrown himself into it, decorating and creating a small “graveyard” in a corner of the parking lot (it was never close to full in the off-season anyway) and helping Billie create the most outlandish costume she could imagine. He was pretty sure he’d had at least as much fun as she had.

“Yeah, we’re not giving up on costumes just because you can’t trick-or-treat,” he assured Billie. “We’ll figure something out. But now, for this year, tell me how we can compromise on this, because Liv seems pretty set on this whole lion thing.”

“Rawr!” There went the feral four year old again, and this time she was mauling Bucky’s ankle.

“Ow… _gently_ ,” Bucky said. He glanced at Tony with a wry, and slightly pained, grin. “I thought ankle-biter was supposed to be a _joke_.”

Tony stretched up and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “I’ll kiss it better,” he promised. He turned back to Billie. “Come on, what’s... What’s the minimum that Dorothy needs to be seen in public, hm?”

“If she’s gonna be the lion--” Billie jerked her chin, trying to outstubborn her sister, although Tony thought it was probably a lost cause, “-- then I need a stuffed Toto, the Tin Man, and Scarecrow.”

“Wicked Witch!” Livvy piped up. “Bee’s a wicked witch!”

Billie’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “No! I want ruby slippers!”

Tony considered it. “Alternate universe dystopia where the Wicked Witch got to the slippers before Dorothy?” he offered. “You could be a witch _and_ have ruby slippers, and we could give you a basket with blue gingham lining or something to keep all the things you’ve stolen from the good guys.”

“I’ll get you, my pretty!” Billie cackled. “AND your little dog, Toto, too.”

Livvy sat there, smug. “Bee’s a witch.”

***

Bucky had gone very minimalist with his costume -- he still had tables to wait and customer disputes to settle -- but that hadn’t kept people from yanking on the tail all night. The events room was cordoned off, only costumed kids and parents allowed, with a special menu; Steve had enjoyed putting that together, and they were serving mummy dogs and eyeball tacos and Flying Spaghetti Monsters on a plate, as well as some adult beverages for tired parents.

“How did you talk me into this again?” Bucky wondered, hooking the tail over his arm again. The vest and hat were blue, with orange zigzag, and the wings had been easy to pick up in the local costume shop. The tail, however, was hand made, sewn into the back of Bucky’s grey jeans, and either his pants were going to come off, or the tail was, depending on who was doing the pulling.

“Because you’re a sucker for Billie’s big sad eyes?” Tony suggested. “You want to trade costumes? I absolutely will.” Tony’s costume was anything _but_ minimalist; he’d practically built himself a suit of armor out of tin sheeting, and was clanking around awkwardly. Which was why he was mostly on cash register duty; it didn’t require as much movement as most of the other jobs. He lifted his “oil can” and took a sip from the long spout. Bucky was beginning to wonder if he had something in there in addition to Coke.

“You look great, but I’ll pass,” Bucky said. At least Tony had discovered there was no way to put armor over his butt and still be able to sit down, which meant the rear view was still fantastic. “Steve can take a picture of all of us, it’ll be awesome.”

Steve had, point blank, refused to dress up at all. Whenever someone nagged him about it, he pulled his apron up to cover his face and intoned that they should pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Whereas Nat’s tips were through the roof, her sexy scarecrow outfit getting even more attention than last year’s Catwoman latex bodysuit.

“Buck up,” Tony said, rattling a little as he patted Bucky on the shoulder. “Only another half hour until the party is done and all the sugared-up monsters go home.”

“Well, at least at the end of the night, there’s still _no place like home_ ,” Bucky said, being cheesy and knowing he was being cheesy.

“Ug,” Tony complained, laughing. “Just for that, you have to help me clean off all this face paint.”

There really wasn’t anyplace on Tony’s face that wasn’t covered in glittery silver makeup, but if Bucky’s flying monkey costume had silver lipstick, he wasn’t sure anyone would notice. He leaned in and stole a quick kiss. “I can do that. What a way to spend Halloween, right? Checking my husband for glittery paint… _all over_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arts! By [Monobuu](http://monobuu.tumblr.com/) (she's like the super greatest!) 
> 
> Look at Billie's glasses, and how happy Livvy looks, and Steve with his apron over his face!! OMG


End file.
